Dodging Raindrops
by purdys pal
Summary: "Without us looking after you, do you have any idea of the hell that will rain down on you?" When Management threatened Michael that hell would rain down upon him without an umbrella, what he hadn't taken into account was that Michael had been dodging raindrops all his life.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I don't own burn notice though I wish I did. This is all just for fun._**

**A/N: This story begins during season Three, after Michael's leap from Management's helicopter but before our hero meets Tom Strickler. **

**I would also like to say a big thank you to the wonderful Jedi Skysinger for her Beta work on this and my other stories. **

**()()**

"_**Who do you think has been keeping your enemies at bay Michael? Without us, hell will rain down on you without an umbrella." **_

**()**

**This is how Michael Westen found himself on the run**

**Dodging Raindrops.**

**()()**

From the depths of oblivion he slowly became aware that something was wrong. The first of his senses to be roused from a deep slumber was smell. The smell of disinfectant mixed with vomit which made his stomach clench. He wanted to move away from the foul odour, but wanting didn't make it happen.

The cool refreshing sensation of a damp cloth on his face raised his level of consciousness a fraction. He realized his head was resting on a pillow, the mattress under his body was hard, and the sheets felt rough against his skin. He scraped his fingers along the surface. It was the most he could manage with limbs that felt heavy, and lifeless.

This wasn't his home, of that he was certain. He knew he should care, he should be fighting his way back to full consciousness. But his body refused to obey the command to move, the fog that infested his mind made it difficult to hold on to a coherent thought. After a moment he felt himself begin to slip away, back into the comforting darkness of sleep.

**()**

His eyelids flickered but seemed to have sealed shut. Something had disturbed his sleep, but he couldn't remember going to bed. Blinded, confused, and unable to move, with no idea of his situation he knew he should have been panicking. But instead his mind and body were cocooned in a cosy feeling of numbness.

A distant buzzing noise irritated his ears, slowly he started to pick out words amongst the buzzing. They were whispering about him, he didn't know who _they_ were, but as he listened more intently to the words he realized the lies they were spreading.

"This is Michael Westen he used to be a spy. Until two years ago, when he suffered a psychotic break during which he killed five men. Luckily he had been talking to his handler just prior to the break, and the man had realized something was wrong. He alerted an extraction team and they brought Michael back to Miami. And he has been here ever since."

_That was a lie. He had been burned, he had been on the phone when they informed him a burn notice had been issued. He had fought his way out of that hotel, he had used a mixture of fast talk, violence and fast feet. _He tried desperately to move his head, to speak out about the lies being spoken. But he couldn't move, his limbs refused to obey his commands, his mouth remained slack and mute.

"And he's been left like this for two years?" This was a feminine voice.

"No. When he arrived he was suffering from paranoid delusions of persecution, which we treated with a mixture of medication and cognitive therapy. He was responding, in fact there had been short periods of lucidity. Unfortunately last week he suffered another psychotic break. We realized afterwards he had been hiding his medication."

"What is the treatment now Doctor?"

"We start again. This is a difficult case, there is a growing opinion amongst administration that he would be better placed in a unit more suited to containing him, rather than treating him. Before we could sedate him he nearly killed an orderly who was trying to restrain him."

The voices faded away and he continued to lay unmoving, even when a damp cloth was wiped over his face, and he felt his body being moved into another position. He was dimly aware that he was in a lot of trouble, but the call of oblivion was too strong.

**()**

"Michael, Michael... If you can get him to focus on you, he is capable of following simple instructions." Strong fingers gripped his chin forcing him to look at the man looming over him. "Michael. How are you feeling today? Are you thirsty?"

He slowly ran his tongue over dry cracked lips, in his mind he was screaming out. But the only sound that came out of his mouth was a soft whine.

"Fiona. Would you help Michael with a drink. Use one of the cartons of juice and a straw."

_Fiona_. The name meant something to him, his chin was released and his head lolled to the side. Then another hand smaller and softer turned his head and he stared into concerned blue eyes. A straw slipped between his lips and he sucked the liquid down, unaware that some leaked out of the side of his mouth.

_Fiona. _The name was familiar but the face was all wrong, blond hair not auburn, tied back in a severe bun framing round chubby features, definitely not the delicate face of _his _Fiona. The straw was removed and his chin and neck were patted dry. He felt her fingers comb through his hair, and then rub against his cheek.

"Doctor, shall I give Michael a shave? Tidy him up a bit. I believe his mother is visiting this afternoon." Michael's eyes slid shut, the effort to stay awake beyond his powers. If his mom was coming to visit she would set things straight. Whatever had happened, if his mother was coming so would Fiona and Sam. He was asleep before the other Fiona began to give him a wash and shave.

**()**

"Michael honey."

_The voice sounded wrong, too high pitched._

"Michael, I've come along way. Can you at least look at me... Doctor Samuels why his he like this?" Whoever this woman was she had the demanding whine right, but nothing else.

"Sorry Mrs Westen, we are reducing the levels of sedation. But your son's behaviour can be very erratic and we need to be cautious."

_That had to be it. He was being drugged. But why did his mother's voice sound so odd?_

It was an effort but Michael forced his eyes open, and tried to concentrate on the figure sat beside him. This woman wore a shoulder length blond wig, big earrings, red lipstick and when she bent to kiss his forehead he got a strong whiff of cigarette smoke. He groaned, and squeezed the fingers resting on his hand. The woman looked at him with hard cold blue eyes. Michael tried to draw his hand away, this woman was not Madeline Westen he was sure of it.

"Hello sweetheart." Her hand stroked his cheek, making his skin crawl. "I see Fiona has given you a shave."

"No..Not." The words slurred out of his slack mouth.

"Yes she did dear." The woman stroked his cheek again as if trying to prove to him he was clean shaven. "And she made a good job of it too." The rest of her words washed over him.

"Michael, you're not listening to me. I'm just going to have a few words with Doctor Samuels, you remember Doctor Sam don't you, I'm not happy with you being left this way."

_Doctor Sam, Nurse Fiona, and a woman who claimed to be his mom. This was all wrong. He had to get away. _

A wave of panic broke through the drug induced haze. Suddenly his heart was pounding threatening to burst out of his chest, pain radiating throughout his body. His body began to shake, his back arching off the bed as his limbs flailed uncontrollably.

He was unaware of being held down, restraints being applied keeping him immobile. Or the needle entering his arm. Only when he was still did the people present breath a collective sigh of relief.

**()**

_He had been on his way out of the door. "Hey don't forget my beer Mikey!" Sam had called out. He remembered the heat and humidity washing over him. "And sushi Michael. Some yellowtail if they've got it." Fiona's voice had floated out as the loft door had closed behind him. He had gone down the steps. Got in to the charger. He had driven out through the gates, he had…._

Michael's eyes opened, he was in the same room as before. He guessed it had to be night time the room was illuminated by a dull overhead light. He flinched when he heard the scrape of a chair and soft footsteps coming to his side.

"You gave us all a scare." A woman in a nurses uniform picked up his arm her fingers pressed against the inside of his wrist. "Your mom was very upset. She didn't leave until you were out of danger." She placed his arm back over his stomach. "She's a lovely woman."

"Please." His voice came out as a whisper. "Where am I? What happened?"

She smiled down at him, giving his arm a gentle pat. "Oh Michael, we go through this every time. All you need to know is you're home, and safe."

Before he could ask another question she was gone leaving him to stare up at the ceiling as he fell back into a daze.

**()**

"Michael, I want you to try to concentrate."

This was a different voice. Kind, but firm. Michael blinked and when he opened his eyes and got his bearings he realized he had been propped up. His head felt clearer, and his limbs not quite so heavy. "Look at me." He heard the click of fingers being snapped and followed the direction of the noise. He found himself focussing on a man sitting beside him, staring back at him over a clipboard.

"Let's start with something simple. My name is Doctor Vincent." The new doctor introduced himself.

"Victor?" Michael squinted trying to focus fully on the Doctor. _Victor was dead._

"No, Vincent. Now can you tell me your name?"

"Michael Westen."

"And do you know where you are?"

Michael looked around. "A hospital?"

The Doctor scribbled on his clipboard, before looking up. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No."

Doctor Vincent sighed and lowered the clipboard before speaking. "I want to help you Michael, but for me to do that I need you to be honest with me. I want you to tell me what do you remember about Nigeria?"

"It's a West African country." Michael answered with a faint smile.

"And you were there in two thousand and six. Can you tell me what happened?" He asked gently.

"It's classified."

"Here." Vincent pushed a card into his hand. "Take a look. It's my clearance."

Michael glanced at his lap, doing his best to focus on the piece of plastic. But it was no good, he remembered when he had high ranking clearance.

"Michael! Please, look at me." It wasn't until the doctor spoke that he realized he had begun to drift off again. "Michael, this is very important. If we're going to make you better, help you to function I need to know what you think happened in Nigeria."

"Nothing." Michael droned.

"You were in a meeting, you were authorized to pay three quarters of a million dollars to a Russian businessman."

"I was burned." He admitted. "I was transfer..."

"No." The Doctor spoke firmly. "Something happened and instead of transferring the money you drew your gun and killed the men in that room."

Michael shook his head. "No."

"Yes." The doctor pressed. "I can show you the reports."

"No. You're wrong." Michael flung himself forward clumsily lashing out.

Orderlies appeared out of nowhere and he was pushed flat on the bed, his limbs forced into restraints. Doctor Samuels loomed over him with a syringe at the ready when Doctor Vincent stopped him. "No. He needs to work through his delusions. Let's leave him to calm down."

**()**

Time meant nothing, he slept and whenever he woke Doctor Vincent was waiting. He was a patient man, and very understanding, he wore Michael down with his reasonableness. "Let's break this down one part at a time. Let's forget about Nigeria for now. Tell me about your friends.

_Doctor Vincent had agreed, Sam Axe was a real person, a Navy SEAL and yes he did indeed live in Miami. Yes Michael had worked with him, several times in fact. But the Doctor refuted that they had ever been friends. After all it was on record that Axe had been one of the main detractors in his last mission with Larry Sizemore. Besides why would a spy befriend a drunken womanizer? Did it seem likely? _

_And then there was Miss Fiona Glenanne. Why would an Irish terrorist help him. Hadn't he betrayed her during his work? When he couldn't explain their relationship the Doctor had played his ace. He had produced a file, Fiona's Interpol file. She wasn't in Miami, she had never even visited Miami. Besides, for the last seven years she had been locked away in Rampton high security hospital in Great Britain._

_Surely he had to accept that Sam Axe would never be his best friend, and Fiona Glenanne was in prison. That it was also unlikely that he had been burned and abandoned by his country. After all what had he done to deserve such a punishment?_

_Doctor Vincent had then asked in a quiet tone if maybe Michael would consider things from a different perspective. Maybe he was confused, didn't he call Doctor Samuels, Sam? And then there was Fiona Glenanne. Would he really have a relationship with a mad Irish bomber? Surely when he talked of a Fiona who looked after him, cared for him was it possible he was confusing the once pretty terrorist with the caring nurse who watched over him every day._

Michael lay limply in the bed, all the fight gone from his body. His mind filled with doubt. _If he could just talk to one person he recognized, and trusted. He would know what to do._

**()**

"Michael. How would you like to go outside today?"

Michael nodded, he was Doctor Vincent's star patient. Quiet, polite and for the most part lucid. He had built up his strength and was free to wander about his room. There had been talk of letting him rejoin the general population if he continued to improve.

"Out?" His voice sounded hollow, dull and lifeless.

"Yes, a walk in the garden. Would you like that?"

He nodded, and let Nurse Fiona help him into some training shoes fastened with velcro. Then after an orderly had handcuffed his wrists in front of him Michael followed Doctor Vincent along a corridor and out in to a walled garden. Squinting in the bright sunlight, he sat down on a stone bench facing a man-made pond filled with brightly colored fish. The smell from a nearby honeysuckle plant reminding him of home.

"I want to talk about the mission before Nigeria." Doctor Vincent spoke softly. "You were in Algeria, to meet a double agent working in the Russian embassy. Do you remember his name?

As with any talk about work Michael became suspicious. "Why?"

Vincent, paused for a moment. "Michael, we or rather I think your condition may have been caused by a chemical or poison. It is something the Russians have been known to use."

"Do you think you can..." He stopped, his eyes narrowing. He could have sworn he had glimpsed a brightly colored shirt and the face of a man he had thought was a friend.

Vincent instantly picked up on his patient's change of demeanour. "I think we've been outside long enough." Michael obediently got to his feet when he felt a pull on his arm. "Let's get you back inside and you can tell me what you can remember about the Russian agent."

"Dan knows." He mumbled, his eyes drawn back to the high perimeter wall and the dense shrubs. "He was Dan's, Dan made the introductions."

"That's good Michael, but if we had the name we might be able to help you." As soon as they reached Michael's room, Vincent pushed him inside and locked the door. Not even bothering to remove the handcuffs.

**()()**

"Well he's in there." Sam slumped down in the passenger seat of Fiona's Saab convertible.

"I've got C4 and assault rifles." She was reaching for the door handle when he stopped her.

"We have no idea how many are in there, and from I just saw he is in no state to help us."

She sunk back in her seat closing her eyes as she fought to keep control. "Do we at least know who they are? Or what they want with him?"

"No, but now we know where he is, I can find out whose renting the building and we should be able to get hold of the floor plan."

She twisted round so she could look Sam straight in the eyes. "He's been gone for a month Sam. I want him back now."

"So do I Fi, so do I but rushing in there guns blazing will probably just get him and us killed."

**()()**

_Sam Axe, he had seen Sam Axe. But what did it mean?_

Michael lay on his bed, still in handcuffs staring up at the ceiling. The Doctors had begun to trust him, he was no longer under close supervision or kept sedated. As long as he took his medication and remained calm he might be able to escape.

_He needed to find Axe and speak to him. If Sam Axe was his friend he would help. If not at least he would know the truth._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, Favs & Alerts for this story. **

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()() **

**Chapter Two**

**A month earlier, or how Fi and Sam found Michael.**

"Fi. How long does it take to get a six pack of beer, a portion of sushi and yogurt?"

At Sam's comment Fiona looked up from where she lay sprawled across Michael's bed, shutting the copy of Soldier of Fortune she had been reading. She glanced at her watch, frowning when she realized how much time had passed since Michael had said he was going to the local store to restock the fridge.

"Not this long." She replied, stretching across the bed to retrieve her phone from her Fendi purse.

Pressing the speed dial she waited for the call to connect, her frown deepening when it remained unanswered. "He's not answering. Do you think we should go find him?" She asked sitting up, to put her shoes on.

Sam tensed as if to get up, but then stopped himself. Ever since Michael's spectacular jump into the Atlantic from Managements helicopter they had been waiting for the hell the old man promised to start raining down. In fact only the day before Michael had made some very nasty comments about not needing, or wanting a babysitter. He could only guess at his friend's reaction to them racing to rescue him from a long slow moving queue at the local store.

"Aw give him a while longer Fi." He relaxed back against the workbench. "He could be caught in traffic. Or maybe he's got sidetracked, you know how he is. I mean if anything had happened he'd call, right?"

"_I_ know, _he_ isn't the one who likes to spend an hour hanging round the aisles of a grocery store hoping to hook up with some desperate bimbo." She snapped, getting to her feet.

"Hey! I never hang around..." He started to yell but the door slammed shut and he could only listen to the sound of her high heels on the metal steps.

Ten minutes later he was back at her side staring at the abandoned Charger, the side fender crumpled as if it had been hit by a truck, the driver's side door wide open, hanging off the hinges, inside there was blood on the window, and the seat.

"Sam, who do you think it was?" Fiona asked running her fingers round the door hinges. Somebody had yanked the door open hard enough to twist the steel bolts.

"I dunno Fi, but it was a surgical strike, very professional. I've been asking around, nobody saw the extraction. We need to find out whose in town with a grudge against Mike."

**()**

And that had been the start to a very bad month. After searching the hospitals and checking he hadn't been arrested they had gone together to face Michael's mother. Madeline had listened to their words, looking from one to the other, then she had surprised them both.

"Well what the hell are you two doing standing here?" She had demanded. With her cigarette dangling between her lips she used both her hands against Sam's chest to push him back towards the door. "Get out there and find my son." Taking her at her word they had left, splitting up to carry out their separate investigations.

In the following weeks Sam exhausted all his contacts, starting with a buddy who worked in traffic control who gave him copies of all the nearby traffic cams at the time of the extraction. Moving on to police officers, and detectives, who might have heard word if any of the many criminals Michael had pissed off since returning to Miami were back in town. And finally he had called his old buddies in the FBI to ask for any information they had about the ex spy's disappearance. But as he moved higher up the chain he started getting knocked back. Nobody wanted to be associated with Michael Westen burned spy, and suspected traitor.

While Sam had been checking out all the official routes, Fiona had torn through the Miami underworld. The gun smugglers, mercenaries and money launderers she dealt with, all had contacts which spread through the whole criminal world. And nobody in their right mind wanted to get in the way of Fiona Glenanne when she was on the warpath. Unfortunately even after a month nobody had come forward with any useful information. Michael Westen had vanished without a trace.

**()**

"Sam? Hey, I might have some news for you about Mike." Considering he was passing on good news Barry's voice sounded nervous as it came through the loudspeaker on Sam's phone.

"We're on our way." Fiona replied before Sam could answer. "Where are you?"

"Oh hey Fi. I'm at the Regent..."

"We're five minutes away." She snapped, her foot pushing down on the accelerator pedal of the Saab.

"Fi. Fiona! Geez Fi watch out for that!" Sam's words were lost under the sound of the oncoming truck's horn.

"Shut up Sam. I need to concentrate." And the car picked up even more speed.

After four weeks with no positive news, Fiona was getting ready to start blowing up chunks of Miami real estate until somebody gave her what she wanted. A few angry drivers barely registered on her consciousness.

They found Barry sitting at a table under a large umbrella close to the pool bar at the Regent Hotel. Sitting beside him was smart looking young man dressed in lightweight suit.

"Spill it Barry." Fiona took a seat facing the two men her expression stony. She eyed the stranger sat next to the spiky haired money launderer wondering if he knew she had plans to kill the next person who gave them a lead that led nowhere.

"It's good to see you too." He quipped, but his smile faltered at the look he received. Gulping, he pointed to his friend. "This is Royce Tobin, he was scouting a job in North Miami and saw something that might interest you."

Tobin paled slightly as two sets of eyes fixed on him. "Well?" Fiona demanded.

"There's this building, it's been empty of ages. Well last month it opened up, new security alarms, cleaners, and some big trucks pulling in to the garage. So I went to check it out." He paused.

Fiona's fingers were drumming on the table, her eyes narrowing as she became more impatient. Sam picked up her mood, and banged his fist on the table.

"Get to the point Royce." He growled.

"Fine. Ok. The front is all decked out like an office reception. But when I reached the back rooms, the ones I could get into, there were beds set up and medical supplies. So I left. I mean... Whatever they were up to I figured it was none of my business until Barry here..."

Sam and Fiona looked at each other, this had possibilities. They were both on their feet, dragging Royce up between them. "Thank you Barry. We'll take it from here." Sam nodded to their friend.

"Good luck." Barry raised his drink and sat back totally unconcerned as his friend was being dragged away.

"Hey!" Royce tried to dig his heels in.

"Quiet." Sam hissed. "Show us this building, and if we like what we see you'll get paid."

"But if we find you're jerking us around. I'm going to blow it up with you in it." Fiona added.

**()**

"See I told you." Royce sat in the back of Fiona Glenanne's Saab pointing to the building on a quiet street in North Miami. "Now give me my money."

Fiona and Sam ignored the thief to study the building for themselves, both coming to the same conclusion. Royce was right, it was no ordinary building full of offices. The security detail was over the top for a start. Fiona counted four men roving around the outside in the guise of doing structural work and gardening. Plus a bank of camera's covering the doors and the street. If they weren't holding a burned spy they were definitely up to something inside.

Sam took out a roll of bills peeling off several hundred dollars. "Get going Royce." He ordered, his eyes fixed on the four man team roaming the perimeter dressed as gardeners and maintenance workers.

With Royce gone, Sam and Fiona settled down to a bit of surveillance. Under normal circumstances Sam was all for the cautious approach. At any other time he would have demanded several days to watch the guards routine, and to study their pattern for holes. But Michael had been gone for a month, if he was still alive and in that building they needed to know sooner rather than later. So after less than an hour Sam nudged Fiona's arm and gestured with a nod to where one of the group was working alone at the entrance to a narrow alleyway.

"There. If one of us distracts him, the other one could get inside through that gate and take a look around."

"I should be the one to go inside." Fiona announced, checking the clip in her handgun. She looked him up and down. "I'm more stealthy."

"Sure thing Fi." Sam agreed and then made a point of checking out what he was wearing. "Damn I forgot to shave my legs. Do you think that guard goes for the natural look?" He batted his eyelashes at her with a coy expression on his face.

"Fine." Pouting, Fiona put her gun away and turned to glare at him, poking him in the chest with a hard finger. "If Michael's in there, don't mess about. Call me, I've enough C4 in the trunk to flatten the whole block if necessary."

"If he's in there, and I can get him out in one piece I will." Sam amended the agreement and then reached for the handle to exit the car. "C'mon lady, time to charm the guard. Do you think you can manage that? I mean talk to a guy without threatening him with violence."

She didn't answer him but flounced off down the street, her jeans riding low on her hips, exposing the top strap of her thong.

He watched as Fiona worked her own brand of magic flirting with the guard. Once he was sure the man was distracted he ran along the side of the wall to the gate. It took him a matter of seconds to pick the lock and slide inside. As he disappeared inside the property he caught sight of Fiona, getting the man to lean over her shoulder to read her map.

Moving silently, using the trees and shrubs that lined the perimeter as cover Sam started to check out the grounds, hoping to find a way to get inside. Unfortunately all the ground floor windows were covered and the doors were locked. It was only when he reached the back of the building that he saw signs of life. Two men sat on a bench overlooking a large pond.

One was tall, reed thin dressed like a doctor in a white coat, the other looked like either a patient or maybe a prisoner dressed in poorly fitting grey pyjamas and wearing handcuffs. It was only when this second man shifted position slightly that Sam realized he was looking at his friend.

Michael sat with his head hung low, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Oh Mikey." Sam sighed. Not liking his friend's grey complexion, or the way his body occasionally jerked and twitched.

It was then he realized Michael was looking directly at him. Staring straight into his hiding place as if he was stood out in the open. Sam reached for his gun, fully expecting Michael to burst into action. Even in handcuffs he should have been able to take the doctor down without a problem. But there was nothing, no recognition in Michael's eyes just a blank maybe slightly confused stare, and no break for freedom.

Instead the doctor was pulling Michael to his feet, shoving him towards the door leading back inside. Cursing under his breath Sam moved further back into the bushes when the doctor stopped in the doorway to look around, obviously trying to pick out what had got his prisoner's attention.

Sam was reaching for his blue tooth planning on telling Fi to get ready for war, when the doctor reappeared with back up. In the face of six large men dressed like hospital orderlies Sam saw there was no choice but to retreat.

However much he wanted to call Fiona in, to do so would cause a bloodbath which none of them would survive. Hating having to leave Michael behind Sam used all his skills to avoid the search parties and get back to the car.

"Well he's in there." Sam slumped down in the passenger seat of Fiona's Saab convertible.

"I've got C4 and assault rifles." She was reaching for the door handle when he stopped her.

"We have no idea how many are in there, and from what I just saw he is in no state to help us."

She sunk back in her seat closing her eyes as she fought to keep control. "Do we at least know who they are? Or what they want with him?"

"No, but now we know where he is, I can find out whose renting the building and we should be able to get hold of the floor plan." He hoped she wouldn't ask too many questions about why Michael hadn't tried to escape.

She twisted round so she could look Sam straight in the eyes. "He's been gone for a month Sam. I want him back now."

"So do I Fi, so do I but rushing in there guns blazing will probably just get him and us killed." He caught sight of men dressed in suits coming out of the front of the building and his heart sunk even further.

"Fi I've messed up, get us out of here." He spoke bitterly, knowing he had probably made things a lot worse for his friend.

"What? Why?" She twisted round, spotting several men obviously searching for somebody. She paled. "Dammit Sam they must have seen you."

She put the Saab in drive and pulled out into the passing traffic. "If they recognized you, what will they do to Michael?"

"Fi, go down that side street, you're going to have to stay here on your own and watch they don't move him while I find out who _they_ are."

"Couldn't we just grab one. If they know we've found them would it matter?"

Sam quickly ran the scene in the garden through his head. "No. There's no way that Doctor or whoever he was saw me. He picked up on Mikey staring at me like a complete rookie that's all."

Fiona took in his words. "He just stared at you?"

"Yeah, straight at me but it was as if he didn't know who I was. Come on get out, I need to get hold of a computer. See if I can find out who we're up against."

Fiona got out of the car and while Sam got into the driving seat she opened the trunk bringing out a long bag which held her favorite sniper rifle. "Don't take too long Sam." She slammed the lid down on the trunk and fixed him with a glare. "It's already been a month, it's not going to be another day."

**()()**

"Michael? Are you awake? I've bought you something to eat."

He heard the words as if from faraway, in his mind he was still trying to formulate a plan to escape and find Sam Axe.

"Michael?" The persistent voice of Nurse Fiona finally broke through and he shifted slightly to stare at her. "Oh!" She exclaimed. "Did the Doctor forget to remove those restraints? And you've still got your shoes on as well." She tutted, encouraging him to sit up.

He watched her through dull listless eyes as she pulled off the trainers he had worn outside, following the movements of her hands as she reached into a pocket on her overall bringing out a set of keys. His eyes brightened slightly and he licked his lips an idea forming in his head. He felt the steel being released from around his wrists and then the Nurse's hands rubbing the numbness away.

"They always do them up so tight." She told him, with a reassuring smile. "You'll feel better soon."

He stared at her feeling himself beginning to slip away, losing himself in her bright blue eyes filled with kindness, and her sunny smile which was the only thing that seemed to steady his shattered nerves.

_Sam Axe had been outside, you could have got all your questions and doubts answered. _At the thought, Michael stiffened, ripping his hands out of her grasp to grip her shoulders tightly. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He told her in a cold flat voice.

Keeping hold of her he got to his feet, pulling her towards the door.

"Michael you're hurting me. Please, let me call Doctor Sam, or Doctor Vincent." She whimpered, trying to resist him.

"No. I have to go." He growled, at the closed door he came to a stop and shook her. "Open." He ordered.

The keys shook in her hands as she fumbled to find the right key, before finally managing to unlocked the door. "Don't do this Michael." She tried again to calm him down, struggling weakly in his grip.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled before thrusting her aside and running out of the now open door.

"HELP!" Her voice shattered the air behind him, echoing in the corridors.

He took two steps and fell to the floor a weight on his back pressing him flat. He fought against the pressure using his elbows, to try to knock his assailant off.

"Bad move Westen." He barely recognized Nurse Fiona's voice as she hissed in his ear. Her fingers scratching against his scalp as she tried to smash his head into the hard floor.

"HELP!" She shrieked out again, then before she could yell again he managed to knock her away from him, kicking out. His heel catching her on the side of the head.

Free of her weight he scrabbled back to his feet and took off running again. His heart hammering in his chest, his limbs tiring before he even made it to the door which led outside. With rising panic he pawed at the door, frantically trying to work out how to open it. Then with a rush of relief it swung open and he was outside in the fresh air.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Three**

Fiona stood on the pavement watching Sam drive off in her Saab. Holding her rifle bag in front of her, she waited until the tail lights disappeared around the corner, before turning her attention back to the building where Michael was being held captive. It took all her will power not to cross the street and go in through the front door and demand his release. She had her rifle, two hand guns and a piece of C4 already wired with a detonator and timer in her bag. After all she reasoned, she had in her time convinced people to hand over far more with a lot less weaponry.

She studied the structure critically, it was well protected and according to Sam, Michael was too badly injured to be much help. Still with some more guns, and a bit of assistance she was positive she could pull it off. Sam with his overly cautious approach, of wanting to double check every detail was taking too long, she craved action. She dug into the back pocket of her jeans for her phone. _To hell with Sam. With the right guns and with men with the willingness to use them, she could have Michael back in less than an hour. _

With just one phone call to Seymour, she would have everything necessary for the extraction. She was also pretty sure to help save Michael Westen's life Seymour would happily provide the guns and mercenaries free of charge.

She was scrolling through the contacts list on her phone when she came to her senses. Without knowing the lay out of the building and how many people were inside any rescue was doomed to fail. At the first sign of an attack the people inside would kill their prisoner. With a sigh, and a curse she turned away to find a suitable sniper perch. She hated it when Sam was right.

She climbed up seemingly endless flights of stairs to get to the roof of the neighbouring building. From the roof she could watch both the front and the rear of the property. And as long as she kept low she thought she would be safe from being seen.

Fixing her bluetooth ear piece in place she put a call through to Sam. "I'm in position. Don't take too long." As she spoke she finished preparing her rifle for use, laying flat she stared through the telescopic sights lining up on the neatly laid out garden where Sam had seen Michael.

Sam must have heard her feed a round into the high powered weapon. "Don't do anything stupid Fi." He growled into her ear. "Remember you're there to watch and try to figure out how many men we're up against, and to watch for them moving Mike."

"Just hurry up Sam, I meant what I said." She snapped ending the call and settling down to watch.

_When conducting an interrogation you need a location where you'll not be disturbed. Where you can isolate your prisoner, and control every aspect of their life._

Michael's words came unbidden into her head.

_At this stage amateurs usually reach for a baseball bat, or spark up a car battery._ _But torture only gets you the fastest lie, your prisoner will say whatever they think you want to hear to make the pain stop. But if you can alter their reality, convince them that you're their only hope of getting out of their present situation alive. They will, over time answer all your questions._

When a door at the back of the property suddenly swung open, she blocked out Michael's lecture on interrogation techniques, and concentrated fully on what was happening below.

The sight of Michael bursting out of the door as if being chased by the hounds of hell instantly put Fiona on high alert, her finger slipped inside the trigger guard as she prepared to surprise the first of his pursuers.

**()()**

Michael flew through the door, and came to a stop the bright sunlight almost blinding him. He stood still, blinking and squinting as he adjusted to the dazzling sunshine. All the while his chest rose and fell rapidly as he sucked in air, fighting to keep control of his rising levels of panic. With his vision restored, he began to look around desperately trying to remember what had driven him to make a break for freedom. Then he saw it, a large bushy Hydrangea, it was where he had seen Sam Axe peering straight at him through the foliage.

He set off purposefully, pushing his way through the shrubs until he stood between the large bush and the perimeter wall. He ran his hands over the rough surface of the brick wall staring upwards, it had to be at least ten feet high and was topped off with rolls of razor wire. _How had Sam got inside?_

He began to jog along the wall looking for an opening or somewhere the wall was lower where he could climb over. If Sam had managed to get inside, then surely he could get out. But he found nothing. Running erratically first one way and then the other he searched for Sam's entry point, when he couldn't find anything, frustration and doubt began to replace the frantic need to escape.

_Had he been wrong? Why would Sam Axe be watching him from the bushes? If he was a friend why hadn't he visited? Why hadn't he tried to help? Why wasn't he there now when he needed him?_

With all the thoughts tumbling around in his head Michael could take no more and came to a stop. Slowly sinking down to the ground, as his legs gave out and despair took over.

"Michael?"

Hearing a soft voice he looked up, standing close by was his nurse, Fiona. His brow furrowed hadn't he struggled with her earlier? He remembered knocking her off his back, and kicking out at her to get away. His eyes flickered over her, searching for any signs of a fight. There didn't appear to be a mark on her, every hair was in place and her uniform was spotless. His breath hitched in his throat.

There was no sign of Sam in the garden, no signs of a struggle on Fiona._ Had he been wrong? Had they been right about him all along? _He rubbed at his eyes trying to clear his head, as the fear he was really going mad began to take hold.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead, trying to clear his mind. His whole body beginning to tremble as the faint hope that they were wrong about him faded away. He had to accept the evidence of his own eyes, he had imagined it all. He felt himself begin to crumble, and looked up at Fiona through bloodshot eyes.

"Michael we were worried about you. What are you doing out here on your own?" She spoke kindly kneeling down in front of him. He felt her hand on his arm and flinched away from her touch. "Come on, you'll catch your death out here." She tried to coax him back to his feet.

When he felt her grip tighten on his arm something inside him snapped. "I -I. NO!" He pulled away. He didn't know why, but there was no way he was going willingly back inside. Throwing himself backwards out of her reach he leapt to his feet and attempted to flee. Instead he found himself in the grip of two large orderlies he hadn't realized were behind him.

"Calm down Michael, you're only going to hurt yourself." Fiona was in front of him again, not looking quite so friendly any more. "Take him back to his room, and make sure he stays there. I'm going to have a word with the Doctor." She ordered the guards.

He was dragged away still fighting, but the orderlies were too strong and too well trained. They half carried, half dragged him back inside the building and along the corridor. He fought for as long as he could but by the time they had him back in his room he was completely spent. They lifted him easily, and threw him down onto the bed then quickly strapped him down. The restraints done up so tightly he could barely move at all.

He lay hyperventilating blowing air in and out of his mouth in short sharp breaths, his heart beating so fast it was as if he had a bird fluttering in his chest trying to break out. His vision began to swim as lack of oxygen was about to make him black out. Unable to cope any more his body began to convulse, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, his teeth clenching as his muscles twitched and jerked in spasms before he finally lost consciousness.

**()()**

Fiona shifted position, laying on her back staring up at the sky, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to come. Sam had warned her he was in a bad way but nothing had prepared her for the sight of Michael's panicked uncoordinated flight, or how skinny and pale he had become. She closed her eyes trying to shut out the image of him running blindly up and down beside the perimeter wall. She had thought about shooting the hinges off the gate, thinking that if he saw an opening he would take it, but luckily she had stopped herself just in time.

As she had been lining up the first shot she spotted guards dressed as hospital orderlies moving into position to surround him. Not so close as to spook him but close enough to stop him straying too far. Watching how they were toying with him like a pack of cats with a mouse made her blood boil. It had taken all her self control not to open fire on them. Only the realization that she couldn't kill them all fast enough to stop them killing Michael stayed her trigger finger.

When he had finally sunk down to the ground in defeat she thought her heart was going to break. He had looked so lost and forlorn, and then that bitch of a nurse had appeared. Fiona was sure her assessment of the blond woman's character was correct. Fiona had picked up on her when she had first appeared in the doorway, redoing her hair, and straightening her uniform, all the time watching Michael's breakdown with a cold hard expression. Before stepping out and acting as if she was a caring professional. Fiona had smiled when Michael had pulled away from her, not quite ready to surrender. The smile hadn't lasted long though, when two large men gripped Michael's arms viciously twisting them behind his back before dragging him back into the building.

The sound of an incoming call on her bluetooth forced Fiona to pull herself together. Falling apart and acting like some weak civilian was not going to save Michael.

"Yes." She spoke abruptly, trying to hide her feelings behind a gruff no nonsense voice.

"And hello to you too, Sister. I'm on my way back. How are things going at your end?"

"I saw him Sam, he made a break for freedom and I had to just sit back and watch them drag him back inside."

She could hear Sam's breathing as he took time to answer her. "You did the right thing Fi, trust me. I'll explain when I get back. I'm ten minutes away don't do anything. _Please._"

She sighed, there was nothing she could do now anyway. "Sure Sam."

**()**

Fifteen minutes later Sam joined her on the roof, while he got his breath back she opened up the folder he had pulled from his back pocket.

"The building is being rented to a Russian Petro Chemical company." Sam managed to get the words out now his breath was returning.

"What would a..." She paused as the answer dawned on her. "They're FSB?"

"Bingo!" Sam pulled out a photograph from the folder. "This guy was talking with Mike out in the garden."

Fiona looked at the photograph seeing a skinny middle aged man with bad posture and an even worse haircut stood between two large men in military uniforms their chests covered in rows of medals. "Who is he?" She asked.

"Doctor Viktor Markov, and in that photo he is standing on the steps of the Kremlin receiving a prize for his work in behaviour modification."

"He's Russian intelligence?" She muttered.

"He's an_ interrogation specialist_, and he's had his hooks in Mikey for a month." Sam finished the bad news. "We need to come up with a plan quick. If this Markov fella thinks for one minute that they've been compromised he'll have Michael on his way to a Siberian Gulag within hours."

Fiona sucked in her cheeks and turned back to look at the building where Michael was being held. "So what you we do?" She asked.

She looked down when Sam pushed a set of thermal binoculars into her hands.

"We start by seeing how many we're up against and where they're holding Mikey." He answered her question. "And then we go in and get him."

She raised the binoculars up to her eyes. "You make it sound so easy."

"Yeah. Well, that's because I'm a professional. I make everything I do look easy." He grinned when he saw he had managed to raise a small smile from the tiny Irish woman.

**()**

An hour later, the sun was beginning to drop down behind the buildings, and neither Sam or Fiona were any happier. "There's at least twelve people in there with him Sam." Fiona whined. "And four more patrolling the perimeter." She handed him the binoculars in disgust.

Sam checked out the building one more for himself hoping to buy some time. The place looked pretty damn impregnable, and well guarded. With a huff he let the binoculars drop to hang by the strap around his neck.

"Ok, I admit what we really need here is a bit of Mike Westen magic. But he's not going to be much help to us in his current state so let's think things through. The guards outside how do we get rid off them quietly?"

"Why does it have to be quietly?" Fiona asked. She stared as Sam as he opened and closed his mouth, as he searched for an answer. "I mean as long as we're quick and get away with Michael before the cops show up. Wouldn't law enforcement be a big problem for them."

Sam thought about it. "Damn it, as much as I hate to admit it you might be right." Without the need for silence he saw several possibilities.

Half an hour later they had the beginning of a plan.

Fiona pointed to the ramp which led to the underground parking garage. "I send a couple of smoke grenades down the ramp."

"The smoke will hopefully bring all the outside security to investigate."

"I keep them busy with lots of automatic fire."

"While I go in the back, blow a hole in the back wall to the room _we think_ Mike's in, and after throwing in some tear gas to incapacitate any guards I bring him out."

Fiona scowled. "And then if we're all still alive, I meet you both in the alley way over there." She pointed to a spot a block away. "And we get away before the cops and SWAT turn up."

Sam leaned over the edge of the building, it was a risky plan for a two man team. _Hell it would be a risky plan for a full SEAL team, but it was the only plan they had._

"We'll just have to go in heavy and hope for the best." He muttered. "Now, while I keep watch you need to go get all the supplies."

Fiona nodded and smiled. "Just what I need now, a nice shopping trip. Smoke grenades, tear gas, a gas mask, a couple of machine pistols and plenty of ammunition." She ran through her shopping list. "There's C4 in my gun bag, you need to make something that will make a hole in the wall and then we'll be ready to go."

**()**

Fiona strolled along the dark street, her hair and a good part of her face hidden by a large hat. As she passed a steep ramp her hand flicked out and a cylindrical object rolled down making dull thud when it hit the metal gates at the bottom. As thick smoke began to billow upwards, she moved away rapidly. Once she was out of sight she broke into a run, heading to where she had left her guns. Moments later the smoke had been seen and two of the guards were stood at the top of the ramp looking down.

Fiona checked the clip in her machine pistol, and tried to patient. Seconds later another guard arrived on the scene and then after a quick discussion one of them started down the ramp to investigate. She cursed under her breath, she needed all four of them on the ramp where she could keep them in the choke point.

"Sam I've only got three guards." She hissed into her phone.

"Yeah I know." Came Sam's reply. "Hang on a second."

She waited, hearing the sounds of a scuffle.

"Ok Fi, the fourth guard is down." Sam's slightly breathless voice came through her earpiece.

That was all she needed to hear. If the other two guards weren't going to go down the ramp she was going to have to make them move. She stepped around the corner and opened fire, the machine pistol sending out bullet after bullet in a hail of fire that drove the men stood at the top of the ramp downwards.

As soon as the shooting started Sam broke the lock on the gate he had gone through earlier and entered the grounds. Keeping low he ran across to the side of the building where their thermal binoculars had shown them was the most likely spot Michael was held. That is, it was the only room where one body had remained unmoving for the whole time they had been watching.

Reaching his destination Sam paused to catch his breath before taking out the piece of C4 he had prepared while Fiona was out shopping, fixing it to the wall he moved back and got ready for battle. With his gas mask in place, he pressed the detonator switch and as bits of concrete flew out of the wall and covered the area it dust he threw a cannister of tear gas in through the hole.

**()()**

The loud boom and rumbling crash of Sam's C4 exploding brought Michael out of his drug induced stupor. As the room began to fill with dust, and the distant sound of gunfire from outside could now be heard inside confusion filled his mind. He could only stare in horror as something that looked like a grenade rolled into the room.

"GRENADE!" He roared out, as years of training broke through the fog of sedation. His body writhed against the straps that held him firmly to the bed as he desperately tried to escape. Soon he was coughing and wheezing and tears were streaming down his face.

He watched as a man wearing a gas mask and carrying a machine pistol suddenly appeared through the hole in the wall. He flinched as shots flew over the top of where he lay, and two orderlies who had just rushed through the door fell to the ground. In his mind he was back in one of the many war zones he had been in over the years.

"Ok Mikey. You're safe now the cavalry's here." The man in mask was at his side, undoing the restraints.

Nurse Fiona was there too, and Michael watched as she grappled with the intruder, trying to rip the mask off his face and then she fell to the ground when the masked man caught her a glancing blow to the forehead.

"Alright buddy, we can't hang around here, come on."

Michael tried to make his limbs move but the effects of the tear gas mixed with the residue sedation medication was making any attempt to move impossible. He could barely see through the tears that were running down from his irritated eyes, and his breaths were coming in short gasps from all the smoke.

"Ok then, let Sammy take the strain." Michael found himself pulled into a sitting position and thrown over the intruder's shoulder.

The whole attack from Fiona throwing the smoke grenade to Sam exiting the building with Michael slung over his shoulder had taken no more than ten minutes. As Sam retreated along the alley the sound of sirens could already be heard getting closer by the second.

When Sam reached the rendezvous spot he came to a stop and with a sigh he lowered Michael to the ground.

"You're safe now Mikey. Hey whatcha doing there buddy?" The last part came when he realized Michael must have taken his handgun from the back of his waistband.

"Lemme go." Michael swayed, his legs barely supporting his weight. With eyes still filled with tears he aimed the gun at the blurred shape in front of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Four**

_What the hell had just happened? The hospital was under attack. A wall had been blown out. A grenade, he remembered a grenade rolling across the floor. The loud crackle of gunfire coming from outside echoing, round the room and through his head. Bullets had flown across the top of him, driving away the orderlies who had tried to rescue him. Fiona had been there too, fighting with the bad guy but she had been thrown to the ground, and he had lost sight of her. Then came the unforgettable smell and taste of tear gas particles filling the air. Tear gas, burning his skin, stinging his eyes, he began to gag as his mouth and throat swelled. He was choking, he was going to die strapped to a bed unable to defend himself._

A gentle breeze caressed Michael's inflamed skin, and the smell of honeysuckle replaced the stench of cordite and chemicals, he realized he was outside. His panic began to subside, as his lungs took in large gulps of fresh air.

From his position hanging upside down draped over a stranger's shoulder he started to resist, feebly pushing and pulling at the man's back trying to make him to let go. Just as his strength started to fade Michael felt his hand close around the grip of a handgun. When his captor stumbled, he used the distraction to pull the weapon free of the man's waistband and then he waited for an opportunity to escape. Finally they came to a stop, and Michael felt the man dip his shoulder and he started to slide to the ground.

"You're safe now Mikey." The man puffed. "Hey whatcha doin' there buddy?" Came the worried question. As Michael shoved the handgun out in the direction of the speaker.

_The voice sounded so familiar. Where had he heard it before? He banished the thought. Struggling to breathe and with tears still coursing down his face blinding him, he had only one desire. Escape. He had to escape. He had to find some place quiet where he could sort out the jumble of thoughts and emotions that had him confused and disorientated. Whoever this man was, he had attacked a hospital, and shot at the staff. _

He fought to keep the heavy gun aligned on the blurred shape of the man before him. "Lemme go." The words slurred out from swollen and cracked lips.

"How about you put that gun down, and we talk about it brother."

_There it was again that friendly relaxed voice. He knew this man. _"Sam?"

"Yeah, there you go. Now why don't you just give me the gun Mikey and we can be on our way."

_Sam Axe was there in front of him. The man he had wanted to see, the man who had the answers. _"You know me?" He blinked rapidly trying to clear his vision.

"Course I know you, hell we've been working together now for two years. Don't you remember? You, me and Fiona, working jobs together."

"Fi-O-na?" Michael rubbed his hand across his eyes, trying to stop the tears and the pain caused by the tear gas.

"Yeah, you didn't think I could keep that little psycho away from a gunfight did you?" Sam moved closer, and Michael brought the gun back up.

_Fiona was here? She had come into his room, she had fought with the man he now knew was Sam Axe. Sam had knocked her to the ground and left her behind. Psycho? That word didn't fit. Not the Fiona who had been helping him get better. _

"You, you hurt... She wasn't working with you." Michael accused.

"Well she's here now, so why don't you ask her." Sam raised an arm slowly, pointing to where a car was coming slowly towards them.

_Fiona was coming. She would know what to do._

He followed the line of Sam's arm squinting to see where he pointed. As soon as his head turned he knew he'd made a mistake. Sam was on him, taking hold of his wrist in an iron grip, pushing his arm down and tightening his hold until the pain forced him to drop the gun. Crying out, Michael tried to fightback but he was in no state for a battle. Before he could turn, Sam had managed to wrap both his arms around him effectively pinning his arms to his sides. Michael threw his head back, hoping to connect with his captor's nose and when that failed he kicked out but nothing worked and after little more than a few seconds he was spent.

"Lemme go. I just want, I - I wa.." Michael's voice cracked and then faded.

Sam staggered as Michael suddenly went limp in his arms. "Jeez Mikey what the hell have they done to you?" He looked across to where Fiona had stopped the car, and was now running over to them.

"What the hell Sam! Did he just try to shoot you?" Fiona called out as she ran to where the two men stood.

"He's confused that's all." Sam huffed. "C'mon help me get him in the car we'll talk about it once we're somewhere safe."

The sound of police sirens was all around them, and the yells of law enforcement voices calling out through loud hailers. Sam thought they had only minutes to get away before the whole area would be shut down. With Fiona's help he carried Michael over to the car.

"You drive Fi. I'll get in the back with him." Sam spoke as Fiona went to climb into the back seat.

"I can manage." She snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"No Fi, you can't." Sam stated seriously. "That bastard Markov has him all turned round. It he wakes up and panics you're not strong enough to hold him down." For a moment Sam thought she was going to argue the point, but then she nodded. Once they had Michael laying along the back seat with his head resting on Sam's chest Fiona slammed the doors shut and jumped into the drivers seat.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

Sam thought about it. "If any of Markov's people escape they may come looking for pay back so the loft is out."

"What about Maddy's, it's somewhere he knows, it might help him."

"No, they could be watching her as well. We need somewhere quiet, some place nobody knows about." He paused for a moment. "Head out along the Causeway. Veronica has a beach house out on Key West."

"Er, Sam I know at your age the memory plays tricks, but didn't she throw your sorry butt out?"

"Yeah but she's in Brazil for a month so what she doesn't know won't hurt her. And hey! Less of the old, I prefer to think of myself as mature, and experienced. And for your information, so do the ladies."

He chose to ignore whatever Fiona was muttering under her breath, as she started to speed up. Instead he turned his attention to checking over Michael for injuries.

**()()**

It was passed midnight when Fiona pulled off the highway and drove on to an unlit narrow road that led out between the dunes. All the time Sam continued to monitor Michael's condition, which remained unchanged throughout the whole journey. Eventually Fiona brought the car to a stop in front of a set of large wrought iron gates. Getting out she went to the trunk and pulled out a set of heavy duty bolt croppers. With the padlock broke she opened the gates and got back into the car.

"How is he?" She looked back at Michael, a worried frown creasing brow.

"Not good." Sam answered, unhappy at what he had found on his examination of his patient.

She didn't comment, instead applying her foot to the accelerator she shot the car forward through the gates and along a short, tree lined path leading to the front of the wooden beach house. As soon as the car stopped Sam carefully climbed out, causing Michael to stir but not open his eyes. Before Fiona could break the locks and dismantle the alarm system he pushed her out of the way and tried the old key code. A grin coming to his face when the locks released. While Fiona went inside to turn the lights on and make sure the place was clear of any unwanted guests, Sam turned back to the car.

He was pleased that they hadn't had to damage any more of his ex-girlfriend's property than necessary. But he promised himself after all this was over he was going to have a word with Veronica about changing her alarm codes when she changed her boyfriends. Even if it got him a punch on the nose.

When he reached the car he was relieved to discover Michael conscious, hunched forward on the back seat rubbing at his eyes and face.

"Hey, look whose woken up." Sam opened the door, and leaned inside. When he got no response he continued. "It's ok we're here, we'll soon have you cleaned up." He kept his tone quiet and even, hoping it would stop another outburst of violence from his friend.

"It hurts." Michael moaned, and continued to rub at his eyes.

Sam dropped down and caught hold of Michael's hands pushing them down and away from his face. "No, leave your eyes alone, we'll wash the chemicals off." He continued to speak softly as if he was talking to a child. His strategy seemed to work as Michael stopped his attempt to rub his eyes and relaxed back.

"Good man. Ok then, lets get you inside." He pulled on Michael's arm and was surprised when Michael allowed him to pull him out.

Out in the fresh air Michael took a step, staggered and would have fallen if Sam hadn't grabbed hold of his arm. "Take it slowly." He ordered, keeping hold of Michael's arm he guided him up the steps, onto the porch and inside. Looking around Sam directed Michael over to an overstuffed arm chair and encouraged him to sit down.

"Waters warm." Fiona commented from the doorway to the bathroom. Her eyes focussed on Michael who sat unmoving slumped in the chair. "I was wondering what are we going to put him in. I mean after the shower. None of us have spare clothes."

"There should be some pyjamas in one of the drawers in the bed room." Sam told her pointing to another door.

"Veronica keeps spare clothes for her …." Fiona pulled a face. "What do you call them? Gentlemen friends?"

"Hey don't criticize other peoples life styles missy." Sam replied. "Now go get the clothes and towels ready while I try to talk Mikey into taking a shower."

Once Fiona walked away, Sam turned his attention back to his patient. Now they were under proper lighting Sam pulled up the sleeves of the pyjamas and saw lines of track marks covering both of Michael's arms and the backs of his hands. Some were large marks from IV catheters deep bruising following the line of his veins. Others were pin prick injection sites. Sam sucked in a deep breath, biting his lower lip as he thought about what his friend had been put through.

"Mike we need to put you in a shower to wash away all the chemicals from the tear gas. It'll make you feel better. Will you let us do that." He asked gently, trying to keep the sound of pity out of his voice.

Michael nodded slowly, and began to unbutton the pyjama top exposing his sunken chest and jutting ribs. Sam swore silently, even though he knew what to expect, it was hard seeing it up close. As soon as he knew who had taken his friend he had done some quick research. Markov liked to induce comas, and use sensory deprivation and drugs to confuse his victims. Along with keeping them drugged, and isolated he gave them very little food or water. Only when he had weakened them physically, and emotionally to the point where they were unable to resist, did he try to extract any information.

"I've got the Pyjamas. Did you know she has a drawer full of new silk pyjamas all in their packaging?" Fiona's amused tone, broke through Sam's thoughts.

_One step at a time. _He reminded himself as he looked up. _Just_ _like all Special Forces, Navy SEALs and covert agents Michael had received training on how to cope with interrogation. Once he was feeling a bit better, he would understand what was happening and he would deal with it. _

"Not now Fi." He growled, then his tone changed. "Ok Mikey, let's get you cleared up."

Michael rose unsteadily to his feet, swaying slightly. When Sam gave him a gentle tug on the arm he stepped forward in a slow shuffling gait. A feminine gasp brought him to a stop, his head raising enough to allow him to focus on the shape before him.

"You?" He stared at Fiona, as his body began to tremble. _What was she doing here?_

"Michael." Fiona smiled, and stepped towards him but came to a stop when he frowned backing away, his hand raised to ward her off.

"Mike what's up? It's Fiona." Sam demanded, concerned at the sudden change in his friend.

Michael looked from Sam to Fiona and then back again his mind spinning out of control. _She was there in front of him, Doctor Vincent had said she was in England. _He flinched when Sam gently touched his arm.

"Mike they've been drugging you, they've filled your head with a whole load of crap. You know Fi, and as much as I hate to say it she's been here for you all along, and you know we've both been looking for you since you disappeared."

Michael nodded slowly, his eyes drifting back to Fiona,

_She looked older, different. She had been asleep, he had left in the middle of the night. Running away because if he didn't leave she would have been killed when his identity became known. She hated him, she was in England, locked away. No, that was wrong. She looked the same, she had been laying on his bed. On his bed... He had been angry, no not angry, he, he... _

A wave of dizziness had him clutching at the wall as his legs buckled and he collapsed, sliding down on to the marble floor. His head lolled to the side, his limbs jerking as if he was receiving electric shocks. He was unaware of Sam dropping down at his side, watching him as his eyes flickered and twitched.

_Ever since Harlan, Harlan was his friend. No Harlan had turned on him, betrayed him. Because of Harlan neither Sam nor Fiona would give him a moments peace. They tag teamed him, taking turns to watch his back, whether he wanted them to or not. He told them as plainly as he could, he had travelled the world without babysitters he didn't need a team of them monitoring his every move now he was back in his home town. But they refused to listen. He had become frustrated. No that wasn't it, he wanted sometime alone. He found an excuse to go out, a trip to the store. Nothing exciting something he could manage on his own. "Hey don't forget my beer Mikey!" Sam had called out. "And sushi Michael. Some yellowtail if they've got it." Fiona's voice had floated out as he shut the door on them._

_The attack had been so sudden he'd had no time to react, a truck, he thought it was a truck driving alongside him. Something had hit the charger, smashed through his window. Then pain, maybe a tazer? Hands dragging him out and then nothing. The times he was awake he fought, argued and it always ended the same with a sharp scratch to his arm and then nothingness. He wanted it back, anything was better than this, better than the pain coursing through his body._

He pressed his forehead against the cool of the tiles, as he felt his stomach clench and nausea caused him to begin to gag. As if from a long way away he could hear Sam's voice.

"Ok. So no shower. C'mon Fi help me get him to bed. We'll have to wash him off as best we can there." Sam ordered.

Fiona was kneeling next to Sam her hand caressing Michael's cheek, feeling the heat coming off his skin. "Sam?" She asked a hint of panic in her voice.

"Not now Fi, let's get him laid down." Between them, they picked Michael up and carried him through to the bedroom, dropping him down in the centre of the bed.

"My guess is this is the start of withdrawal from all the crap they've been injecting into him." Sam pulled Michael's arms out of the pyjama sleeves exposing the black and blue pin prick marks.

"Bastards." Fiona hissed, staring at the marks angrily.

They watched helplessly as Michael curled into a ball, his knees drawn up tightly to his chest, his breathing becoming fast and shallow. "Ok this is getting us nowhere, go get a bowl of water lets start by getting the tear gas off his face and then we'll deal with the rest of his problems." Sam ordered.

"How bad do you think this is going to get?" She asked, biting on her lower lip, trying to control her anxiety.

"Bad." Sam muttered. "And we don't know what they've given him so we don't know what to expect." He shook himself, worrying about things they couldn't change wasn't going to help.

They gathered towels and a bowl of water. Then while Sam held Michael down Fiona washed away the chemicals that had left burn marks around his eyes, mouth and nose. Once they had him clean they got him into the new pyjamas.

"I'll go throw these away." Sam held the contaminated clothing in his hand. "See if you can get him to drink a little water."

Fiona went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a straw. Climbing onto the bed behind him, she moved him until his head rested in her lap.

"Here, it's water try a sip." She stroked a hand over his forehead feeling the heat emanating from his skin, and when he opened his eyes she smiled down at him and directed the straw into the side of his mouth. As soon as he swallowed he wretched, struggling off her lap he made an attempt to get off the bed but failed. She caught hold of him running her hands over his back trying to soothe him. Once he calmed, she shuffled around on the bed and picked up one of the towels they had discarded earlier and cleaned him and the bed up.

"He can't keep water down." Fiona snapped, as soon as Sam walked back into the room. "And he's running a temperature he needs to see a doctor." She threw the sheet she had just changed on the bed at his chest.

Catching the screwed up sheet, Sam dropped it onto the floor and went to the side of the bed. While he felt Fiona's eyes boring into the back of his neck he checked Michael over again. With a sigh he turned to face her.

"The Fed's will have been looking for Mikey since he dropped out of sight. If we take him to an emergency room and they find out, how long do you think it will be before they put two and two together? A Russian Spetsnaz team holed up in a building full of medical supplies and then a burned spy turns up looking like he's been filled with drugs. Michael would disappear, probably never to be seen again. Or maybe Markov has diplomatic immunity and is hunting for his missing prisoner himself." He shook his head. "We have to stay out of sight, at least until I can find out what's happened to Markov." He could see Fiona getting angrier by the second, when he finished speaking he waited for the explosion.

"I didn't say take him to an ER." She ground each word out. "I know people. I'll get one of them to come out here." When Sam opened his mouth to speak, she stepped closer one finger pointing at his head. "Not. One. Word. He needs medical assistance, and he's getting it."

She turned away, picking up her purse and car keys she headed for the door. "I'll be back in an hour."

"Fi! Fiona!" Sam was on his feet rushing after her, only sliding to a stop when he saw the gun in her hand.

"I can get the doctor to sew you up too, only after he's seen to Michael of course." She smiled sweetly at him.

"This doctor you're going to get. Can you trust him to keep quiet? Will he be able to explain about his missing supplies?"

Fiona lowered the gun. "I've never used him, but I know several smugglers who have. He has a good reputation in the gunrunner community."

Sam nodded, and took a step back breathing a little easier. He had thought for one moment she intended on kidnapping some local physician and bringing him back at gunpoint. "Ok then."

She put her gun back into her purse, and turned away again. "Just keep him safe until I get back."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Five**

_"He can't keep water down. And he's running a temperature, he needs to see a doctor."_

Michael shifted away as yet another set of hands checked his pulse, and pressed against his hot dry skin. As soon as this latest annoyance went away he moved to curl up in the centre of the bed, his eyes tightly shut against the dull crushing ache that invaded every bone in his body.

He tuned out the angry words of the people standing nearby. Wishing they would go else where to finish their discussion.

_"He needs medical assistance, and he's getting it"_

Finally they left him alone, whimpering he ran his tongue over his dry cracked lips, he was burning up, his throat so raw even taking a breath was agony. Desperate for a drink he imagined soothing cool water cascading down his throat, and instantly his stomach knotted in protest adding a whole new layer to his misery.

Groaning he tried to find a position which caused him the least amount of pain, his legs kicking the covers off his already overheated body. While he wrapped his arms over his head trying to still the pounding inside his skull.

Just when he thought the pain had reached a plateau, the loud crash of a door slamming reached his sensitive ears and white hot fingers of torment stabbed into his brain sending fresh pain shooting through his exhausted body.

He needed a drink, and he needed something to get rid of the pain. He wondered if he could find the strength to knock himself out. Unable to stay still any longer he edged over to the side of the bed and tried to sit up. As soon as he raised his head off the bed, the movement sent a wave of nausea from the pit of his stomach up into his head and with a crash he toppled forward off the bed and on to the floor. He lay still, his limbs splayed out slack and useless refusing to obey his brain's command to move.

"Whatcha doin' Mikey?"

Relief flooded through his body when he realized they hadn't really left him alone, blinking he turned his head slightly trying to get his eyes to focus on the figure leaning over him.

"Hurts." He mumbled, making out dark hair, a stubble covered chin and concerned brown eyes looking down at him.

"I know, come on let me help you back on to the bed, it'll be more comfy than the floor." The figure spoke again.

"'Kay." Michael felt a strong hand grip his arm and help him back onto the bed. As soon as his head touched the soft sheet and pillow he closed his eyes. Trying to block out all the pain that racked every inch of his body. He flinched when a hand patted his shoulder. And the same deep kindly voice spoke again.

"You've just gotta hold on a little bit longer brother. Fi's gone to get a doctor, he'll fix you you up in no time you see."

Michael would have liked to believe him he really would have but he knew it was a lie. He could feel his heart beating a rapid rhythm in his chest, each rasping breath hurt his swollen throat and every movement sent agonising pain coursing through his body. He closed his eyes and shook his head in denial. He was not going to get better.

"It's withdrawal Mikey. A guy named Markov has been drugging you, he's got you all mixed up. But in a couple of days you'll start feeling better."

Michael heard the words, and tried to answer but the effort was too much his eyelids refused to open and besides, as along as he kept very still the pain seemed to be at least bearable.

**()()**

After storming out of the house Fiona jumped into her car. With a turn of the key and a heavy foot on the accelerator pedal she soon left the dunes far behind and was onto the Overseas Highway heading towards mainland Florida. With one hand on the steering wheel, and her phone in the other she tried to keep her eyes on the road while glancing down at her phone until she found the name of the man who could help her.

"Jojo?" She snapped as soon as the call was answered.

"Hey Fiona, not a good time. Can I call you back later?"

"No you can't, I'm in Key West and I need a doctor." She could hear the sound of a boat engine in the background, he was probably in the middle of a job.

"You hurt?" Came the concerned reply.

"No. But I have a friend who needs help. Who did you use last year. During that little war you had with Philippe Gardeno?"

"You mean Billy Clemens? He has a place on Sugarloaf shores. But you should know, he's not exactly the friendly type. If your friend can hang on I'd get him to the mainland."

Fiona started to increase her speed. "Just send the address to my phone." She ordered, unfriendly she could deal with, especially as she wasn't feeling that friendly herself. Sugarloaf shores wasn't that far away. If she put her foot down and didn't run into any cops she could be there in fifteen minutes. The Saab shot forward, the engine roaring even louder than before as Billy Clemens address came through in a text message.

**()()**

A low buzzing noise and a small flashing LED on an alarm next to his bed alerted disgraced ex-US Army physician David William Clemens to an intruder approaching his home. Swinging his legs out of bed he quickly slipped into sweat pants and a loose t shirt, and then turned to a row of security camera screens attached to one the walls in his bedroom. Lighting up a cigarette he stared at the image of a tiny, skinny woman marching purposefully up to his front door. He squinted at the screen, sucking in a deep lungful of nicotine as he gazed at the unfamiliar figure.

When the woman, stopped to stare directly into one of his many security cameras. A half forgotten piece of information edged into his consciousness, sending out a warning telling him this woman was going to be trouble.

Just as his door bell began to ring, he reached a decision, picking up the pump action shotgun he kept next to his bed he racked a round into the chamber and headed downstairs. The ring of the door bell had been replaced by a loud banging. She was obviously using something harder than a fist against his steel re-enforced door.

This was all he needed, some damn smuggler's bitch causing a scene on his doorstep in the middle of the night. Cursing under his breath, he stabbed his finger down on the button for the video intercom system.

"Who are you? What do you want?" He growled.

"Billy Clemens? I was given your name..."

"I asked for _your_ name lady. Not for a list of your frickin' friends." He cut her off, she had called him Billy, he already knew who had told her how to find him.

"Fine." She growled back at him, a large hand gun coming into view on the video camera screen. As she introduced herself he heard the menacing click of the gun being cocked. "My name is Fiona Glenanne. Now open the damn door."

He gulped, lowering the shotgun. Fiona Glenanne, he should have guessed. How many delicate, stunning looking women carrying large guns inhabitated South Florida?

"I said, open the damn door Clemens. I'm counting to five. One. Two. Three."

By three he was undoing the bolts, he had heard all the stories regarding Fiona Glenanne and had even worked on a couple of people who had gotten on her bad side. It was a position he didn't want to find himself in, so he flung the door open wide and stood aside.

She stalked passed him dressed all in black, wearing what looked like combat fatigues with high heel, laced boots. Her features were hard and drawn, her eyes fixed on the shotgun still in his hand. He dropped it and moved back, sighing with relief when she gave him a small tight smile and her own gun disappeared from sight.

"I have a friend he's sick. I need you to come with me now." She got straight to the point.

He nodded, this was good, she was here for his help. He opened a door and stepped through into what passed for his office, surgery and store room. "You know my terms?" He asked, looking over his shoulder. "A goodwill payment, two hundred dollars, cash. Before I do anything."

She fixed him with a stony glare. "Sorry. I can't pay you right now."

He stopped in his tracks this was awkward, he was a man of strong financial principals, but he was also a man who liked to stay alive.

"But I can get the money for you. And I would be very, very grateful if you did this small favour for me." She fixed him with a wide friendly smile.

He could live with that. The idea that Fiona Glenanne owed him a favour was a compromise he could live with. So with a nod of agreement, he continued to prepare his bags placing a large suitcase on his desk he began pulling supplies off the shelves.

"So what am I dealing with? A gunshot?"

"No, he's been tortured, drugged."

Not what he was expecting to hear. "O-kay then. So nobody's been shot, stabbed or blown up?"

When she confirmed with a quick nod he took the surgical tools out of his kit, and began searching the shelves for the medications he thought he might need.

**()()**

Sam stared at the man sitting on the edge of the bed examining his friend. He frowned at the man's appearance. He didn't look like a doctor, he didn't even look like a medical student. He looked like some hippy beatnik reject from the sixties. The man was his age for gods sake what was he doing with long light brown dreadlocks and wearing a grubby tye dye T shirt?

"Fi?" He hissed, gesturing at the so called doctor. "Where the hell did you find him?"

"He comes highly recommended." She replied, keeping her eyes fixed on Michael who was flinching and twitching every time the Doctor touched him.

"Yeah? Recommended by who?"

**()()**

Michael was eyeing this new doctor as well. As they had stripped him of his pyjama top Sam had introduced the man as a friend of Fiona's.

"He's here to help you buddy. He'll fix you up in no time. Just let him give you a look over we'll be standing right here, watching." Sam had then pushed the man forward, and backed away with a reassuring look on his face.

Michael tried to remain still as a blood pressure cuff tightened on his arm, and a thermometer was thrust into his mouth. He tensed when the man pressed the cold hard end of a stethoscope against his chest and then urged him to sit up so he could listen to his lungs.

"Can you remember when you last had anything to eat or drink?"

Michael didn't reply, the pounding in his head matching the pounding of his heart as his anxiety levels began to rise.

"Ok, so you're not feeling very talkative that's not a problem, I understand. How about telling me what you've been given? Any ideas? When they gave you medication how did it make you feel?"

As the examination continued, Michael's mind began to drift. The familiar sensation of medical hands poking and prodding at him started to make him feel uncomfortable and he began to flinch at every touch. Then out of nowhere came the strong smell of disinfectant, the scent filling his nose and tainting his taste buds.

Jerking his head to the side trying to escape the smell, he gasped when strong fingers grabbed his jaw pulling his head back round to stare up at the doctor. He gazed in horror as the man's features appeared to shift and shimmer before his eyes, morphing into those of Doctor Vincent.

_"You stopped taking the medication again. What are we going to do with you Michael?"_

Doctor Vincent's voice scolded, causing tremors to course through Michael's body. He was back in the hospital, everything that he thought had happened must have been another delusion. No Sam Axe, no Fiona, and no rescue it was all a lie. He twisted his head away from the bright light being shone into his eyes trying to see the room he was being held in.

"Hey just keep still a bit longer bro, I'll be finished in a minute."

Michael was becoming more confused as the doctor's face changed yet again. This time he looked older, long brown hair hanging down in dreadlocks. "No." He whimpered wanting it all to stop. Then man leaned over him, making Michael shrink back.

"_It's all a delusion Michael. You need to come back now. Let us help you."_ He heard the words clearer than those of the man leaning over his bed. Doctor Vincent was calling him back.

"No more. No." Michael wasn't sure what he was protesting about, the pain, the confusion or way he felt his life was spinning out of control. As he lost all sense of what was real and what was illusion. He lashed out knocking the doctor's hands away and turned on to his side wrapping his arms around his body curling up into a protective ball, waiting for the orderlies to come over and force him to submit.

**()()**

Sam and Fiona watched as Michael was becoming more and more agitated finally knocking Clemens away, his hand catching the older man a glancing blow on the nose. With Clemens sprawled on the floor Sam turned to Fiona.

"Go over there. Calm him down, he'll listen to you." Fiona gave him a look of horror, and he raised an eyebrow. "What? He always listens to you." Sam explained.

"He doesn't know me Sam." She whined, voicing her fears. The image of Michael staring at her, backing away before he collapsed and went into convulsions was stuck in her mind.

"He knows you Fi." Sam reassured. "Markov has him confused that's all, you'll see. Now get in there before your doctor friend gets hit in the face again." He gave her a not so gentle shove across the room. Smiling to himself when she crawled onto the bed, and pulled Michael none too gently into her arms.

Instead of a couple of large orderlies forcing him to surrender to whatever exam the doctor wanted to perform. The bed dipped and a small soft hand stroked his arm, fingers skimming over his skin. The touch was familiar he opened his eyes and found he was staring into large blue-green eyes. When her hand came up, and ghosted over his cheek he sighed and relaxed, his body drawn as if by an invisible force towards her.

"You." He murmured.

"Me." She agreed with a soft smile. "Do you recognize me?"

He touched his hand to her cheek in a tentative caress, his fingers gently exploring her features reacquainting himself with her cheekbones and jawline before capturing a long tendril of hair between his fingertips.

"Fiona, my Fiona." He muttered, as he lost himself in her eyes. Suddenly a frown creased his brow. "How?" He asked.

"I'll explain later, when you're feeling better." She gently took hold of his hand, uncurling her hair from his fingers, and taking hold of his arm she laid it against his side. All the time keeping eye contact with him. "Let the doctor make you better Michael. He just needs to get some fluid into you. Please Michael." She encouraged.

"Stay with me." He pleaded moving his hand back to her cheek.

"I'm not going anywhere, now let the doctor have your arm." She took it from her cheek and placed it back at his side this time holding it there.

"Shhh, it's nearly done." She soothed as Clemens managed to find a vein.

Holding Michael's attention with soft words of encouragement, she only broke eye contact when Clemens nodded that he was done. Glancing up she saw the IV line going from Michael's arm to a bag hanging up on a stand. "You need to sleep now, and when you wake up you'll feel better."

"But you'll be gone." He could feel the effects of whatever the doctor had given him pulling him under, he had to fight to keep his eyes open scared she was going to disappear once he let them shut.

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere." She ran her fingers over his eyelids encouraging him to close his eyes and sleep.

"Not here." He mumbled. "They said you're not here. They'll make me forget you." He sighed.

"They've gone. Me and Sam chased them away. They're not going to get their hooks into you again." She leaned in placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, and then on his forehead.

Fiona watched as his breathing deepened, and the lines of stress slowly vanished from his face. Only once she was sure he was asleep did she shuffle backwards off the bed. Moving to where Sam stood blocking the doorway while Clemens faced him, his suitcase zipped up, handle extended ready to go.

"And where do you think you're going?" She asked, moving passed him to stand next to Sam.

"Oh our friend thought he was on his way home." Sam answered, giving the doctor a warning glare. "Apparently _Doctor Clemens_ here thinks his job is done."

"What _I said_ was, your friend is going to have a bad couple of days. And without knowing exactly what he's been dosed with all I can do is give him some heavy duty pain meds and an anticonvulsant. Which I have done." Clemens shot back, his eyes darting from Fiona to Sam and back again. "He's also on fluids to counteract his severe dehydration and I've left you a box of rehydrate which he can take orally, once he wakes up." Clemens took a step forward. "It's all nursing care now. Not my thing." He commented with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Whoa fella." Sam pressed the flat of his hand against the doctor's chest.

"You're not going anywhere, until Michael is sitting up and talking sense." Fiona informed him flatly. "So go make yourself comfortable."

"Hey!" Clemens knocked Sam's hand away and went to push passed when he came to an abrupt halt as he caught the deadly expression on Fiona's face. "I mean. _Look_, I can't stay here I've got other customers. You're interfering with my livelihood." He whined.

"You want to walk back to Sugarloaf? By all means go." She answered, lowering her voice when Michael let out groan and stirred. "But we're both too busy to take you anywhere until Michael is out of danger." Her attention was already back on the man moving restlessly in his sleep, and her promise to be at his side when he woke up.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you, for all your reviews and comments, I really appreciate every one.  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS **

**()()**

**Chapter Six**

The first rays of dawn light had already appeared on the horizon by the time Fiona, Sam and Billy Clemens finally got to bed. While they slept the sun broke fully over the sea, sending out rays of red and blue lights along the horizon, and a light sea breeze carried warm air inland promising to keep the humidity down to bearable levels, at least for a few hours.

In the main bedroom of Sam's ex-girlfriend's beach house, long low rays of sunlight broke through the gaps in the gently billowing curtains, making shadows dance across the floor and walls. On the bed Fiona lay on top of the covers still fully clothed from the previous nights activities. Beside her covered by a sheet up to his armpits Michael lay on his back, an I.V slowly dripping isotonic fluid into his severely dehydrated body.

The same light breeze that was making it such a pleasant morning outside entered the bedroom through an open window, causing the light fabric of the translucent muslin cotton curtains too shift and sway allowing a draft of soft warm air to caress Fiona's cheek.

The shifting shadows caused by the curtains and the light touch of moving air brought Fiona from slumber to fully alert in an instant. As her eyes flew open, her hand slid under her pillow and then she rose sitting upright her arms extended before her, the handgun sweeping the room searching for any intruders. An angry frown marred her features, as she wondered how had they slipped up so badly as to leave a window open. Once she was satisfied that they were alone she took a moment to relax, her eyes dropping to focus on the figure still sleeping peacefully beside her.

She thought he looked a little bit better, his breathing had slowed and deepened and though still pale his skin had lost the blue-grey tinge of earlier. She bit her lower lip as she took her first proper look at him, all his muscle tone had wasted away leaving just skin and jutting bones, unshaven and with dirty unkept hair he looked worse than he had two years ago when she had found him battered and bruised in a run down Miami motel room. Unable to resist, she reached out and gently touched the palm of her hand to his forehead. He felt cooler, she combed her fingers through his hair thinking that as soon as he was strong enough she was going to get him into a hot bath and clean away the layers of dirt and neglect.

At the thought of a bath, she remembered that she was still dressed in the clothes she had worn the day before during the extraction. Wrinkling her nose as she caught a whiff of smoke and gunpowder. Moving slowly so as not to disturb Michael she climbed off the bed.

Satisfied that he was still sleeping Fiona walked to the door that led to the en-suite. Inside she stared at the large double shower cubicle, and the rows of various body washes and shampoos while her fingers idly stroked the thick fluffy towels neatly piled on one of the chairs in the room. This en-suite was at least twice as big as Michael's mother bathroom.

With a final look back at Michael's sleeping form, she turned on the shower, and stripped off her clothes. After a quick shower she dried herself off with one of the thick fluffy towels and then went to check Veronica's closets. She stared at the row of summer dresses, and the shelves of shoes, running her hands over the items. Wondering briefly what on earth a woman with so much going for her had ever seen in Sam Axe. Refusing to dwell on the matter she pulled out a pale yellow sun dress. Looking at herself in the floor to ceiling mirror she pulled a face, the dress was two sizes to big for her. But after a glance back into the bathroom at her own clothes laying on the floor, she decided she could live with the badly fitted dress. With a final spin, letting the dress flare out she turned away from the mirror.

Brushing out her freshly washed hair she walked back into the bedroom. A broad smile lighting up her face when she realized Michael was awake and watching her through half opened eyes.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" She smiled a welcome. The smile only faltering a little bit as he stared back at her with a guarded expression.

"Where are we?" The words were rasped out from dry lips, as he rolled onto his side groaning at the effort needed to perform such a simple task. "What happened?" He demanded.

"We're on Key West, at Veronica's beach house. You remember Sam's old girlfriend?" She sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching for his hand.

"_Florida_? I'm in Key West _Florida_?" He ignored her hand, attempting to use his arm to lever himself into a sitting position. It was then his eyes fixed on the I.V tubing running from his arm up to an empty bag on a long metal stand. "What happened?" He gasped, suddenly collapsing back on to his pillow.

She bit her lip unsure how much to tell him. He took her hand in his, and squeezed it tight. "Fiona what happened? Why are you here?" She watched as before her eyes the color drained from his face.

"Answer me." He snapped, tightening his grip on her hand.

Wincing as her knuckles ground against each other she tried to decide how much to tell him. "Michael, calm..." She bit off the rest of her words as she felt his hand begin to tremble.

"Fi." She could hear the panic in his voice. "Fi." The tremors were now coursing through the whole of his body, and his hold on her tightened even more.

He wouldn't let go of her hand and she couldn't pull free either so instead she raised her voice in a frantic call for help. "SAM! SAM GET IN HERE!"

The door was flung open as Sam and Clemens came running in to the room. "He was fine." Fiona gritted out the words, still trying to rescue her hand from Michael's grip. "A. Bit. Confused. But he knew who I was." At last Sam managed to lever Michael's fingers enough for Fiona to pull her hand free. "Then he suddenly started shaking."

"Help me get him on his side." Clemens ordered. Then as they turned him Clemens looked up at Fiona. "How long has he been like this?"

"I called out as soon as he started shaking. Is he going to be alright?"

They all breathed a sigh of relief as Michael suddenly stilled, his breathing returning back to normal. While Sam and Fiona watched Clemens quickly checked him over, after a couple of minutes he stood up straight.

"He's asleep now. I'll set another bag of fluid going and when he wakes up I'll decide what else to give him." He paused. "Look he should really be in a hospital, he needs tests running. Tests I can't do here, blood work, a CAT scan. Without knowing what's been done to him and how it's effected his internal organs I'm operating in the dark. All I can is treat what I see and hope I'm not making things worse."

Still nursing her hand, Fiona looked down at Michael who was sleeping peacefully. She sniffed, and then her expression began to hardened. "We need to find out what's going on, see if it's safe to go back to Miami, and what happened to those Russians. I'd really like the opportunity to get my hands on one of them. I'd find out exactly what they've done to him and enjoy doing it."

Sam nodded. "I'll head back to Miami. Speak to a few people, see what I can find out. You stay here and keep an eye on our guest and Mikey." He suggested.

"Sure, pick up some of our clothes and spare ammo for guns as well." She answered, before sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking hold of Michael's hand.

**()()**

Clemens finished setting a new bag of I.V fluids going, all the time listening to what they were saying. He saw that Fiona was too wrapped up in caring for Michael to listen to anything he had to say. So instead he followed Sam out of the bedroom. "Look, there really is nothing more I can do without knowing what he was given." He thought Sam might be easier to convince his usefulness was over.

Sam stopped in his tracks at the whiny nasal voice. Looking down at his feet deep in thought he suddenly rounded, lifting Clemens up by the front of his tie dyed t-shirt and slamming him into the nearest wall.

"No you look, that is my best friend laying in there and you'll do you're damn best to make sure he gets better." Sam growled into his ear. "Now I'm going to try to get the information you need, and while I'm gone you are going to be on your best behaviour because if you do anything else the only person you'll be patching up in the near future is yourself." Sam let go of the t shirt and as Clemens dropped to the floor. Sam patted him on the shoulder. "You got it buddy?"

Clemens nodded, making a promise to himself the next time he got a bad feeling about somebody walking up to his front door regardless how harmless they looked, he was just going to play it safe and shoot them.

**()()**

It took four hours to get back to Miami, with one of those hours sat stationery in traffic while the police cleared up a head on collision just outside Key Largo. Thirsty and hungry Sam decided to kill two birds with one stone and put a call through to a buddy who worked in the Miami-Dade SWAT squad room. "Hey Connie, I know you're on the night shift, do you want to meet me for some breakfast. I'm paying."

He listened to the long drawn out sigh. Then began to smile as Connie his buddy who worked the communications desk for SWAT finally agreed. "Sure thing Sammy, give me twenty minutes."

Half an hour later he was sat facing ex girlfriend and now valued buddy Connie Vasquez. He bided his time, munching his way through a fish taco, while Connie ate French toast and chatted about her ten year old daughter who was spending the week with her dad in Fort Lauderdale. Eventually though he brought up the reason for the invitation.

"Hey so what was that all about last night? A big shoot out at some office block?"

She smiled knowing that Sam hadn't invited her out for a meal, out of the goodness of his heart. "Oh was that something to do with you or your friends?" She looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

"Just curious that's all." Sam knew he wasn't fooling her in the least, they were both playing a little game.

"Uh-huh. Well it's all been cleared up. The business belongs to a large foreign petro-chemical company whose board has some very influential friends on the economic trade commission. It appears it was vandals letting off smoke bombs and firecrackers around the building. And the private security company got a bit jumpy and started running around brandishing their weapons." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's all been cleared up now."

Sam felt his heart sink at the news, the whole attack had been swept under the carpet and now a Russian special forces team was probably out looking for their missing prisoner.

"You okay Sam? You look like somebody just stole your last beer."

Connie's voice broke into his thoughts and he looked up forcing a broad smile on to his face. "No sorry Con. Look I've just remembered I've got a thing to do for a friend." He laughed. "You know how it is."

She sighed, typical Sam Axe. She sat back in her chair. "Leave the money for the meal and get going." Then as he dropped the money for the meal onto the table she placed a hand over his. "Sam you should tell your friend Westen he needs to get back to Miami fast, the feds were sniffing around asking a lot of questions until they got called off. There's been talk in the squad room about the amount of explosions that have happened since he returned home."

He stared at her for a moment as the words sunk in, and then nodded. "If I see him I'll let him know, thanks Connie."

Sitting in Fiona's car Sam pulled out his phone, unsure if he was doing the right thing. Taking a deep breath he pressed four on his speed dial. If Markov was looking for Michael he might well decide on using Michael's mother as leverage.

"Sam?" Madeline answered the call. "Where have you been I ..."

"Maddy, I need you to pack a bag and go visit Disney World again."

"I've only just got my sun room back Sam. What's going on, have you heard from Michael?"

"Maddy I can't say anything at the moment just that a visit to the Magical world of Disney would be good for your health."

"Ok Sam. Give him my love." He sighed with relief when she hung up, he could rest a bit easier knowing she was out of the way.

Putting his phone away he decided his next job should be to get them all a few changes of clothes. Seeing Fiona in Veronica's clothes seemed completely wrong, he remembered pulling that particular yellow dress over her head and then, he shook himself banishing the thought from his mind. No he was not going there. Instead he would think about how he was going to get the information Fiona's not so friendly doctor needed to treat Michael.

By nightfall Sam had a trunk full of clothes, guns and ammunition and was sat just down the street from the scene of the previous nights extraction. He wasn't quite sure about how he was going to approach the situation. He needed either to get into the building and see if any evidence had been left behind. Or he needed to get hold of one of the team involved.

**()()**

Michael opened his eyes, he was laying on his side in a strange room. Every bone in his body aching and his head throbbing in time to the beat of his heart. Closing his eyes tightly he tried to remember what had happened.

_Sore aching muscles, and a massive headache. A fight maybe? The smell of gunpowder and chemicals assailed his senses. A war zone, he had been in a war zone there had been explosions and smoke. Afghanistan? Maybe Iraq? It felt hot enough to be Iraq but it was the wrong type of heat._

He forced his eyes open and took another look at his surroundings, hoping to see something that triggered a memory. His eyes widened when he saw the feminine shape dozing in the chair next to the bed. Long auburn hair partially hid the woman's features but even wearing a crumpled badly fitting yellow sun dress he recognized the familiar shape of Fiona Glenanne.

_A _mission_ with Fiona? Had a mission with Fiona Glenanne gone wrong? That didn't seem right as a whole collage of other memories and emotions had his senses reeling. _

An attempt to sit up brought on a strong wave of nausea, his stomach did a flip and sore, tender muscles tensed in protest. Grunting at the mere effort necessary to move, the noise was enough to wake Fiona and he found himself staring into blue-green eyes.

"Hey." She smiled reaching across to press the palm of her hand to his brow. "How are you feeling?"

_What had brought about this new caring version of Fiona Glenanne? Last time he had been injured she had fixed his arm and then kicked his butt telling him to keep moving. _He frowned, that had happened years ago.

Another groan escaped his lips as a stabbing pain grew between his eyes. _He had a flash of an old run down motel he had been thrown out, discarded, left battered and bruised and she had turned up from New York to help him. More pain. No she was in England locked up, arrested after a botched mission to buy high explosives. He had seen the file. _

"Michael?" The concern in Fiona's voice worried him more than anything else.

He gazed at her, having to force his eyes to focus._ She was older, a lot older than the last time he had seen her. Wrong again she was the same. _His heart rate began to rise, he could feel a tightness in his chest building.

He felt bile rise up in his throat. "Fi I'm gonna be sick." He gasped, frantically trying to get up, struggling even more when she pinned him to the bed.

"Here." She thrust a large plastic bowl in front of him. "Here. It's alright shh, it's alright." She rubbed his back, ran a cooling hand over his forehead as he gagged and wretched.

When he finished she took the bowl off him and let him fall back panting trying to catch his breath. "Stay there. I'm going to empty this and get you some water to wash out your mouth." She got off the bed. "Stay there don't move."

He watched her move away still trying to work out where he was. It was then he noticed the I.V and all the other marks on his arms. He struggled to sit up ignoring all the pain he needed answers. "Fiona what happened? Where am I?"

She was back at his side instantly placing a hand on his chest to keep him still. While the other began to wipe over his face with a cold damp cloth.

"Michael it's very important you keep calm." She spoke slowly and clearly staring into his eyes forcing him to concentrate on her face. "All you need to know for now, is that you're safe."

He stared back at her, slowly letting himself relax back. "Where are we?" He asked again less demanding more pleading as exhaustion took over.

She hesitated, then sat down beside him her hand leaving his chest to gently comb through his hair trying to soothe him. "We're in Key West staying at a friend of Sam's. In their beach house."

He gathered his thoughts, his mind slowly clearing. "Sam Axe?"

"That's right. We came here with Sam last night."

His eyes slid shut, then fluttered open again as he fought to stay awake. "I was in a hospital. They said you were locked up, in England."

"They lied." Fiona replied stroking his cheek now. "Go back to sleep. You're safe."

She smiled when he gave a slight nod and his eyes closed again. She stayed there watching him, watching the even rise and fall of his chest. Just a crease in his brow and the occasional tightening of his abdominal muscles letting her know he was still in pain.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'd like to send a big thank you out to ****Jedi Skysinger**** for all her help answering my questions on all things Miami.**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Seven,**

Fiona paced restlessly around the bedroom, her hands idly playing with her cell phone turning the small electronic device over and over and passing it back and forth from one hand to the other. She had just got off the phone with Sam Axe. It had taken him over four hours to get back to Miami she shook her head in disbelief, while she continued to spin and twirl her cell. Four hours travel and all he had to report back was bad news.

She had listened in silence as he told her everything his buddy Connie had told him. When he finished explaining it all she let loose with a string of curses, at the unfairness of it all. Sam waited for the outburst to end and then informed her he was preparing to go in for a closer look on the building that had been used by the Russians. His plan, to look for somebody to grab so they could do a bit of interrogating of their own. She liked the idea of having somebody to question, however what she didn't like was being stuck unable to do anything to help.

She was no good at sitting around while others did all the dirty work, or as she saw it, having all the fun. It was so frustrating that she was stuck in Key West leaving Sam with no back up and about to walk into a dangerous situation. Pursing her lips, she studied her phone, before placing it down on a nearby chest of drawers. She wasn't just sitting around, she was there to protect Michael in case any of those Russians by some miracle found him.

Somebody, she couldn't remember who it was had once called her Michael Westen's Pitbull. At times like this, that was precisely what she was, if anybody came to cause him harm she would rip them apart without a thought.

Smiling at the thought, she turned her attention back to the bed and the medic, Billy Clemens. The man had already re-checked Michael's pulse, blood pressure and temperature and was now changing the empty bag of I.V fluids for a full one. All the time Clemens had been running his tests Michael had remained asleep. Only now was he making faint murmurs of protest, she took a couple of steps closer noticing Clemens was injecting more drugs into Michael's body.

"What are you giving him?" She asked, a fresh fear flooding her body that something else was now going wrong.

"Morphine and an anticonvulsant." He told her when he looked up. "It'll give him some pain relief, and hopefully stop any more convulsions."

She nodded stiffly waiting for him to finish with his patient. "Why don't you go see what you can find to eat." She ordered Clemens. "Veronica has a large freezer, she must have left something for her next visit."

Once she alone again she sat down next to the bed and picked up Michael's hand, linking their fingers together. "C'mon Michael. We need you to get better." She whispered into his ear.

It was then she heard the first warning pitter patter sounds of rain, followed by a far off rumble of thunder. She looked down at Michael's sleeping form hoping that he would sleep through the on coming storm.

**()()**

Sam was nothing if not a patient man. He sat inside Fiona's Saab enduring the heat, and stuffiness for nearly two hours waiting for the city rush hour to finish. Finally the street was quiet, all the nearby office workers had gone home and apart from the occasional vehicle passing by, Sam had the whole block to himself.

Glancing at his watch, he ran a hand over and around his chin. If he didn't act soon it was going to be the early hours of the morning before he got back to Key West. There was no more time to waste, no more time to wait and see. In the whole time he had been watching he hadn't seen a single roving security guard or anybody walking into or out of the building who looked to be part of a Russian special forces team.

The way he saw it was he had two bad choices, to either go search the building, or start driving back without any information on what had been done to his best friend.

A distant rumble of thunder caused him to duck down and look out of the front window, high up in the sky fork lighting blazed across the sky. A storm front way off in the distance, hopefully it was far enough out to sea it wasn't disturbing Michael too much. He dreaded to think what effect a full blown thunder storm would have on his friend's nerves in his present condition.

Picking up his cell phone Sam let his thumb hover over number two on the speed dial. He had only spoken to Fiona an hour ago, calling her again was a waste of time. If Michael was freaking out the last thing Fiona would want is a phone call. Letting out a deep sigh, he put his cell away and reached into the back pack he had placed on the passenger seat coming out with the thermal binoculars. It was time to take the surveillance to the next level.

Leaving the car Sam casually walked along the street and passed the front of the target building. He was confident that nobody had seen him clearly the day before. The last time he had contact with any of Markov's Spetsnaz team it had been dark, and he had been wearing a gas mask. Glancing out of the corner of his eye and by using reflections in the high security glass of the windows Sam noted that the reception was deserted, but a dim light was coming from a side room. The light kept flickering, making him think the guard was probably keeping himself busy by watching TV.

After he had walked all round the perimeter Sam came to conclusion there were no sentries guarding the outside of building. Standing in the alleyway from where he had launched Michael's extraction the night before, he brought out the thermal binoculars to check out the inside of the building.

What he saw, was not what he expected. Apart from one guard at the front, the only other person he could see inside the building was moving about in one of the rooms, adjoining the one he had rescued Michael from the previous night.

Climbing back into the Saab, Sam thought through what he had seen.

_Would they really only leave two people? They had to think Michael was in hiding, seriously ill and without proper support. The rest of the team must be trying to find him._ _The two men inside were unlikely to know anything useful, they were most likely just security guards employed by the company who owned the building. Which meant he was going to have to go inside and dig around for any paperwork or other clues left behind. _

Having decided going inside was the only option Sam eyed the building deep in thought, trying to come up with a plan.

_He had no back up, no confirmed intelligence on the enemies numbers, positions, or weaponry. He didn't even know if anything of any importance had been left behind. His training told him this mission was a high risk for a low reward. If it wasn't to help Michael he would have called it off there and then. With that not an option he gave thought to what he could do. As long as the two men were separate he was pretty sure he could take them out one at a time. It was risky, it was the sort of plan a certain tiny psycho back in Key West would go for, but she was busy looking after Michael so it was up to him. _

With a sigh he began to get ready to assault the building yet again. Pulling off his shirt, he slipped on his bullet proof vest once the Velcro tabs were secure he put his shirt back on over the top.

_No need to let the rent-a-cops know he was anything more than a civilian._ _Yes this was definitely a job which would have suited Fiona, the homicidal leprechaun far better than himself. While she enjoyed missions with very little or no planning. Personally though he preferred the more cautious approach where everybody got in and out safely and back home in time to make it to the bar for minty mojitos. Still just because he preferred the cautious approach didn't mean he didn't know how to wing it. After all he had being hanging around with Michael Westen for the last couple of years._

Loading up with a couple of handguns, and a handful of cable ties and he started towards the main doors. Peering inside he knocked on the glass, keeping up the noise until a man dressed in a security guards uniform came into sight.

**Bang, bangbangbang, bang...Bang, bangbangbang, Bang...Bang...Bang...Bangbangbang..**

The security guard looked over his shoulder when the annoying dull thud of a fist pounding on bullet resistant glass didn't stop. With a heavy sigh he got to his feet, a tall man dressed in the worlds ugliest Hawaiian shirt was banging on the glass, his face twisted with panic, as he peered inside and then back along the street. When he locked eyes with the security guard he started to mouth something. The guard came closer, trying to see why for all the commotion. But even craning his neck he couldn't see anything happening along the street. The man outside started to gesticulate wildly all the time glancing back along the street.

The guard tried to shoo the lunatic away, but he just banged harder and pointing more vigorously along the pavement. Finally the guard held up his hands in frustration, and went over to the alarm switching it off. Walking over to the doors, the guard noticed the man outside had calmed down. Unlocking the door he began to pull it open just a crack.

"Look fella, you gotta prob..." He got no further as the metal door frame hit him between the eyes and he fell back stunned.

**()**

As soon as the door was unlocked Sam threw all his weight forward, elated when the guard received a solid blow to the head and tumbled backwards onto the floor. Pushing the door open Sam stepped inside and before the man could even think to act he brought his foot round and finished him off with a swift kick to the head. Pausing just for a moment to check there was nobody coming to the guards rescue, Sam locked the door and then grabbed the fallen man's hand to drag him across the floor into the back room.

Once he had the body out of sight he quickly applied cable ties to the man's wrists and ankles and then loosen his uniform tie and moved it from under his shirt collar to between his lips before tightening it back up to use as a gag. With the first guard secured and Sam took his time to satisfy himself he was alone and that he hadn't tripped any silent alarms. Then it was straight on to take out the second man.

Cautiously entering the back corridors Sam let his handgun lead the way, his whole body on full alert. He would never admit it, but with his heart pounding and adrenaline flowing he felt twenty years younger. This whole mission was a reminder of why he had spent years doing the things he had done.

Coming to a stop when he saw light coming from under a closed door. Sam got ready for action, gliding forward his hand closed around the door handle and he slowly opened the door a crack, peering inside he looked around the room to where he could see a heavily built man going through a filing cabinet pulling out papers and stacking them in a brief case. Sam smiled grimly he had hit pay dirt. Hopefully he was about to get his hands on secret files, and the man sent to collect them.

Noiselessly entering the room with his eyes firmly fixed on the man with his back to him Sam pointed his gun. "Ok fella keep your hands where I can see them."

The man turned slowly his hands held wide and open, a smile on his lips. "We wondered who would come."

Sam opened his mouth to ask what he meant, when he heard a soft muffled crack and instantly a white hot pain shot though his leg forcing him on to his knees. Looking down in shock he was surprised to see blood pooling around him and all over his left pant leg. He had been shot. He had made the mistake of relying on a single piece of intelligence and was now going to pay the price. The thermal binoculars had failed to show a second person stood next to a heater.

Sam slowly looked up as a pair of long shapely legs came into view. He followed the legs up and found himself facing a curvy blond haired woman. As he stared, she pushed the still hot end of silenced hand gun against his forehead. Her smile widening at his grimace of pain.

"Sam Axe." She smirked. "Friend of Michael Westen. I thought I recognized you last night. I hope your comrades are looking after _our _boy. Now get rid of the gun and your phone please."

Fighting to stay conscious as blood continued to flow out of his leg, Sam dropped his gun watching as she kicked it towards the man standing across the room. Then slowly he reached into his pocket and removed his phone, tensing when she stamped her foot down on it.

"We knew one of you would come back." The woman told him with a touch of glee in her voice. "Michael is unwell yes? You need to know what we have done, and of course what he has told us." She was stalking back and forth in front of him. "You know I was his nurse? He trusts me, I'm his nurse _Fiona_. I bet if he saw me now he'd willing come to me, _I know_ how to stop his pain." She finished with a smug look on her face.

Sucking in air Sam looked around taking note of the positions of the two people in the room, trying to work out how he was going to get away before he lost too much blood to stand a chance. "Lady from what I heard even when you drugged him he tried to get away. And _the real Fiona,_ if she ever catches hold of you will make you wish you had chosen some other alias."

"Ah but she's not here is she? Only you." She was back in front of him. "Where is Michael?" Her tone hardened and her foot came up aimed straight at his injured thigh.

In that instant Sam saw his a chance, it was risky in fact totally suicidal but he also knew he might not get another opportunity. He wrapped his hand around her ankle and yanked her off her feet. As she started to fall Sam made a frantic grab for her gun. He had misjudged her, though she looked soft she was actually packed with muscle, even as she fell on top of him she lashed out her fist connecting with his jaw. Then as they rolled across the floor a loud bang rang out, and suddenly she was no longer fighting.

Sam froze listening to the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Gerda?"

Carefully Sam pried the silenced handgun from the blond woman's hand. Trying to keep her body between him and the other man in the room. Holding the gun between them he cocked the hammer, hoping it was enough to deaden the click of the mechanism being drawn back.

"Gerda?" He was closer now.

Sam raised the gun and fired, the soft noise of the silenced weapon was drowned out by the **Bang!** of his opponent's gun. As the man rocked back a spread of crimson covering his white shirt, Sam gasped and dropped his handgun to the floor. Where the man had been hit in the stomach by Sam's shot. Sam had been luckier, the bullet which came at him embedded itself in his bulletproof vest, cracking one of his ribs in the process.

Carefully rolling Gerda's limp body on to the floor Sam remained prone, trying to control his breathing and minimize the pain coming from his ribs. The harsh rasping breaths of the other man's death throes, urged Sam into moving his battered body. This had to be a trap to catch anybody who came sneaking around, if he stayed where he was others would come and he would end up dead or forced into giving up Michael's location.

Gritting his teeth Sam forced his protesting body upright. The dull throbbing ache coming from his ribs was nothing compared to the white hot agony radiating from his leg. Holding onto the desk he looked down at his blood soaked appendage. Taking a deep breath he investigated the wound, using both hands to rip open his pant leg. Sighing with relief when he saw it was in fact not as bad as he first thought. The bullet had ripped through the outer side of his thigh muscle, making a messy but as long as he stopped the bleeding non-life threatening injury.

Taking off his shirt, he bundled up the material and held it firmly against the wound, then using his free hand he undid his belt and pulling it through the loops on his pants. Wrapping the belt around his thigh and over the now ruined shirt. Taking a deep breath and holding it he pulled the belt tight and tied it in place.

There was just one more thing he had to do before he could leave. Going to the filing cabinet he piled everything into the brief case on the desk, they could sort through it all later. He picked up one piece glancing at it in frustration it was all in Russian. They were either going to have to get Michael to translate it which was probably a bad thing given his present state or he would have to run it all through a translator on his computer. Still it was better than nothing, now all he had to do was get back to Key West.

Hobbling outside Sam was thankful that it was so late nobody was about on the street to see him. Making it back to the car Sam eased himself in to the driver's seat and breathed a sigh off relief. He had expected to walk outside to find more of the Russian team laying in wait.

After taking a moment to prepare himself for the long drive back to Key West Sam set off. He was feeling light headed from the blood loss, could barely move his left arm due to his damaged ribs, and to top it off he had a trunk full of illegal weapons. Grimacing at every stop light, and at every patrol car he passed, he began to curse himself for thinking hiding in a remote location with only one way in and out was a good idea. Especially when that road was patrolled by a whole variety of law enforcement on the look out for smugglers.

Two and a half hours later he was exhausted, having to constantly watch his speed and keeping an eye out for anybody following him had drained his reserves. When he ended up off the road and nearly in a tree because of a small herd of deer running across the road in front of him he knew he was in trouble.

Switching the engine off he flicked on the internal light on in the car, and took another look at his leg. A thin line of fresh blood was trickling through the now crimson shirt. Resting his head back against the head rest he stared out of the window. Ahead he could see a curtain of rain, and lightening flashing across the sky. Pretty soon he would be driving into the storm. Closing his eyes he tried to push away all the pain and tiredness.

_"One more hour. One more hour and I can collapse. And this time at least there's a doctor waiting for me."_

Opening his eyes, Sam restarted the engine, gritted his teeth and headed into the storm.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS **

**()()**

**Chapter Eight**

Sam leaned as far over the steering wheel as his hopefully just bruised ribs would allow. Squinting his eyes he peered through the windscreen desperately trying to see anything through the heavy deluge of rain which was hitting the car at an almost horizontal angle. Struggling to make out anything further away than the hood of his car, he was also having to wrestle the steering wheel to hold a straight line as the gale force wind tried to send him off the road.

What kept him going, was far off in the distance he could just make out the lights of the Naval Air Support base on Key West. The lights regardless of how faint were like a beacon of hope, once he reached the airbase he would be minutes away from being safely wrapped up in a soft warm bed.

Ever since leaving Big Pine Key, he had been silently cursing whatever gods he had managed to anger. Somebody up there had to be seriously pissed with him to put him through everything that had happened in the last twelve hours. Each jolt the car made as he navigated his way around mud, rocks, branches and in one case a child's trampoline on the roads between each of the bridges sent pain shooting through his leg. That was bad enough but every time he had to swing the steering wheel to avoid the obstacles a searing pain from his bruised ribs caused his breath to catch in his throat and left him hyperventilating.

The bridges offered no relief as the wind would buffer the car mercilessly, and to top it off the soft top roof of Fi's convertible now leaked. A steady thin stream of water ran down the inside of the vehicle, soaking through the shoulder of his under shirt. _"Next time I visit the Keys it's going to by_ _boat." _He growled, not only having to worry about the rain outside, he now had to worry about it inside too.

**()()**

Billy Clemens was in the kitchen when he heard the first pitter patter of rain hitting the windows. As he continued to search for something to eat he listened to the gentle tapping turn to a violent drumbeat before changing yet again to an angry hiss as the rain began to come down so fast it was as if it had become a single sheet of water.

The storm that had seemed so distant was suddenly on top of them as the sky above was lit up by long jagged streaks of lightening. Followed less than ten seconds later by the deep rumbling roar of thunder.

Loud crashes and thuds added to the cacophony of noise coming from outside as the wind began whistle and howl sending garden furniture and loose fence panels flying through the air as if they were nothing more than kindling. Accompanying the screeching howls came the harsh crack of bark surrendering to the power of the wind as branches were ripped from the trunks of trees.

Clemens paused as he was about to place a saucepan on the stove, with the pan still in his hand he watched the sky light up and waited for the roll of thunder. Counting the seconds, seven this time it was definitely getting closer. Placing the pan down on the counter top he left the kitchen heading back to the main bedroom.

"Fiona?" He pushed the door open, stepping inside he found the infamous Fiona Glenanne gently running a damp towel over Michael Westen's face and around his neck.

"What?" She answered without looking up, all her attention on trying to soothe the man writhing in pain on the bed.

"There's a storm coming in. Do you know where the controls are for the shutters?"

"What?" She brushed her hair off her face, frowning as she stood up straight to face him.

"These storms can get pretty bad. It might be best to pull down the shutters before a window gets busted." He explained.

Then as if to prove his point another flash of lightening pierced the night sky, followed shortly by a loud crash of thunder, this time the sound rumbled on for even longer.

"How bad?" She asked turning back to run a comforting hand over Michael's brow as he let out a whimper. "How bad is it going get."

"It's gonna sound like a war zone. Haven't you been through a storm before?"

"Of course I have." She muttered, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on Michael's shoulder to encourage him to lay still as he began to mutter and struggle. "You'll have to find the switch yourself and then get back here. He's getting worse."

Clemens shrugged and turned away this was just what he needed, to be trapped in a house with a notorious gunrunner and her seriously sick boyfriend during a storm.

"Once I've got the shutters down I'll collect my kit. Just do your best to keep him calm." He hurried back to the kitchen, he remembered seeing a circuit board and breakers in the utility room. Hopefully there was a control switch to lower the storm shutters in there.

**()()**

"_Please_ Fi, please take me back. V-vincent can help me. Take me back. You shouldn't have come. Should have left me." Michael mumbled in his delirium.

His words bringing tears to Fiona's eyes as she listened to him begging to be returned to his tormentors. He looked so desperate as he clutched at her hand, staring up through bloodshot eyes.

"You've just got to hold on a little bit longer." She told him, watching as he continued to writhe in pain.

"Please Fi. I – I..."

His bloodshot eyes went wide, as a flash of lightening lit up the room. Followed by a deafening clap of thunder that rumbled on for ages making the walls and floor vibrate. Releasing her hand Michael shot upright, staring around the room.

"It's a storm, just a storm. Shhhh." She pressed her hand on his chest, feeling the fluttering of his heart under her palm.

Another bolt of lightening came almost straight after the first faded and the thunder seemed to roll on and on endlessly as the heart of the storm made landfall. Suddenly there was a staccato of bangs and crashes as debris collided against the walls and windows of the house. For a moment Fiona felt as if she had been transported back to one of the many running gun battles she had in Belfast. But it only lasted for a moment, because Michael lost in his own delusion let out a soft whine while his hands frantically searched the bed covers.

"M' gun, gun, I need m' gun." His eyes were wild as he shrugged off her soothing touch to continue his search.

A metallic creak followed by a whir and a crash made both of them jump and the steel shutters began to lower over the windows. This final assault on his ears was all it took to send Michael over the edge.

Fiona stood no chance, as without warning he suddenly twisted away from her and rolled across the bed on to the floor. The clatter of the IV stand falling over and the tubing left abandoned across the bed trailing blood across the sheets, told her he had ripped the I.V from his arm.

Dashing around to the other side of the bed Fiona caught sight of Michael scrabbling across the floor trying to get to his feet but failing as his legs refused to support his weight. He ended up at the far side of the room with his back to the wall, his legs splayed out in front of him and his head in his hands.

"Michael, it's alright it's just a storm." She crept to his side, avoiding the bloody hand prints on the floor caused by the wound from the ripped out catheter, and his effort to escape his nightmare.

Dropping down beside him, she pulled his trembling body into her arms. Stroking a hand through his hair and along his cheek. "It's just a storm, it can't hurt you." She could tell her words were lost on him, that she needed to find a way to reach him through all the noise, and the pain he was suffering. She began to speak of one of the last assignments she helped him with before he abandoned her in Belfast.

She spoke softly, her mouth inches from his ear. "Do you remember the time we climbed into that old factory in Amsterdam. The weather was wild that night too, oh not as bad as this but the noise of the rain on the metal roof was like being under attack. We were both soaked to the bone and you'd cut your arm breaking the glass in the door. Then we discovered..."

"They made mattresses." Michael added his voice little more than a whisper. "It was a mattress factory, we hid out there all night."

"That's right." Fiona smiled, still stroking her fingers through his hair. "Do you remember that night?"

He nodded snuggling against her, the tension beginning to leave his body. Sensing him relax Fiona kept up the story, trying to keep his mind off the violent storm battering the beach house. "What was it you said about getting warm? Shared bodily warmth and a positive mental attitude. How many of those beds did we try out in the end?"

He shook his head, his eyes tightly shut against the pain and confusion filling his mind. Her voice the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I can't believe you don't know, I'm sure you must think about that night sometimes...What was it the manager said when he came in, in the morning?"

"Fi... Please Fi." His leg jerked and he half turned burying his head into her shoulder. "Lemme go."

"No. Michael you can fight this. Tell me, what did the manager say? Come on you used to speak Dutch. You were Jan, Jan oh what was it? What was your cover? You were a diamond smuggler, called?"

"Dunno." He mumbled into her neck, the tremors were returning and with each rumble of thunder they got worse. "Fi, M' arm hurts." He changed the subject.

"You were on a drip." She began to explain.

"Hurts Fi." He muttered again, lifting his arm to show her his blood soaked limb.

"You pulled the I.V out of your arm. We need to get you back to bed and let the doctor look at it."

He perked up slightly. "Vincent, Doctor Vincent? M-m-my meds, he has my meds."

"No, Vincent did this to you. Don't you remember. We told you. This Vincent is one of the bad guys...Here, this is our doctor." She gestured for Clemens who had just entered the room to come over.

"He's torn the IV out." She told Clemens as he came to join her.

The medic knelt down in front of Michael. "You don't say." He answered drily looking across the room to the rumpled sheets, and the all the mess.

"Let me see." Clemens turned his attention to Michael pulling his arm out so he could exam the wound. Keeping a tight hold when Michael shrank back in to Fiona's arms. Reaching into his bag with one hand he pulled out a pack of sterile gauze, and passed it to Fiona. "Put that over the wound and keep pressure on it." He ordered.

Once he was sure Fiona could cope, he continued to check over his unwilling patient. Finally satisfied that Michael hadn't done any more damage to himself. "Well I can't get another line in that was the only decent site I could find." Clemens sighed, giving up his examination of Michael's arms. "We should get him back to bed. But I'll give him something to help him sleep first."

Clemens moved back and searched through his bag, coming out with a syringe and a small bottle. "This should help him sleep and lower his heart rate." With the syringe loaded up he approached Michael, taking hold of his arm. Planning on sticking the needle in his upper arm.

More bangs and rattles as the wind and rain hit the shutters and Michael pulled his arm free, turning to Fiona. "No more needles, no more, I can't think." He pleaded, his hand snatching up hers. "I can't think clearly, and you won't tell me what happened."

"Michael, you need to rest." She tried to explain.

"No more drugs." Michael muttered again.

Fiona was at a loss, minutes ago he had been begging for them to return him to the people who had drugged him and now he was refusing to let them help him sleep. She looked over Michael's head at Clemens.

"He needs to rest, and he isn't going to get it without help." Clemens answered the unasked question.

She nodded, dropping her forehead so it rested against his, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. Curling her fingers through his hair, feeling the tremors that were running through his body. "I'm sorry Michael. But just this once, the last time. I promise."

"No more." He muttered, his eyes losing focus. Clemens had injected the drug while Fiona had distracted him.

As he slumped forward, Fiona and Clemens lifted him between them and carried him the short distance back to the bed. Once there he came round enough to refuse to sit down. "No, no more bed." He hunched forward as his muscles knotted.

"You can't stand up Michael stop being a child." Fiona pushed him back and as soon as he sat down she lifted his legs giving him no choice, as she tucked him in bed drawing the covers over him. "You need your rest."

Fiona looked down at him, his eyes already closing as he curled up on his side accepting he needed rest. She combed her fingers through his hair waiting until he finally fell into a restless sleep.

Outside the storm raged on, the storm shutters taking a battering. Running her fingers through her hair she wondered what the hell had happened to Sam.

**()()**

Sam couldn't help the grin of relief as he passed by the Naval Air Base and started across yet another bridge on the last leg of his journey. Once over Stock Island and passed the international airport he would be back among his friends and would be able to collapse onto a nice comfy bed. No relying on Fiona's not so gentle nursing skills, this time they had a doctor in residence. No gritting his teeth while somebody with all the finesse of a chimpanzee with a sewing kit repaired his leg. No this time there would be some painkillers and sterile equipment.

Even the bad weather was clearing away, the storm heading back out to sea. The gale force winds that had caused so much damage had been reduced to merely the occasional strong gusts, and the torrential rain had vanished leaving streets that for the time being glistened under the street lights. From experience Sam knew in a few hours time when the sun rose up the heat would become unbearable. But that was just another reason to be thankful for Veronica's state of the art air conditioning system.

Just as he was beginning to feel that the gods had finished torturing him for a while he turned on to the road that led to Veronica's beach house and came to an immediate stop. Ahead of him the road was covered in broken branches, parts of an old wooden fence and several large garden planters. The decorative plants they had held presumably blown away. Pulling the Saab off the road, Sam got out there was no way he could clear a path on his own. It was a risk but he was going to have to abandon the car while he got help.

Limping painfully along the debris strewn path Sam eventually made it to the front of the beach house. He stared in awe at the wrecked garden and the heavy shutters covering the windows several of them carrying deep dents. It looked like he hadn't been the only one suffering through the storm. With a sigh of relief he made it to the front door and banged as hard as his sore body would let him. When the door swung open he was only vaguely aware of the small shape facing him holding a gun.

"Hey Fi." He mumbled before falling through the door on to the floor.

**()()**

**A/N: The full story of what happened inside that Amsterdam mattress factory can be found in Who We Once Were, on the M-rated page. **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Nine**

A steady loud banging, different from all the other noises the strong wind was throwing against the storm shutters caught Fiona's attention. Glancing up at Billy Clemens she took a chance and handed him a gun. "Watch Michael. If you hear shooting, stay in here until I come back."

"What if.."

"If the bad guys get in? You shoot them, and keep shooting until you're out of bullets because if you let them take him without a fight. You had better hope they've killed me."

Clemens nodded solemnly, and after checking the clip, and flicking off the safety he positioned himself between Michael's drug induced slumbering body, and the door.

Satisfied that Michael was going to be as safe as she could keep him, Fiona left the bedroom and cautiously approached the front door. She didn't really believe that the bad guys would be so polite as to knock on the front door but it never hurt to be careful. With her gun ready to fire she stood to one side and unlocked the door, letting it swing open.

Standing before her soaking wet, wearing a bulletproof vest and blood soaked pants was Sam Axe. He took a half step inside swaying dangerously.

"Hey Fi." He slurred as his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he fell forward crashing to the floor.

Swiftly taking a step back as soon as she realized Sam was about to fall on top of her, Fiona kept all of her attention on the open door. Still on high alert in case he had been followed, Fiona squatted down and pressed two fingers of her free hand against Sam's neck. Satisfied that he was alive she moved forward her hand gun leading the way. Once on the doorstep she swept the area, peering into the darkness only moving back inside when she was sure they had no uninvited guests.

Shutting and bolting the door before slipping the gun into the back of her waistband she turned to kneel down beside Billy Clemens who had come out of the bedroom when there was no sounds of shooting. The medic had already started his assessment of his new patient.

"Well?" She asked, picking up the bullet proof vest, Clemens had pulled from Sam's body.

"A bullet nicked the outside of his thigh, it's more bloody than dangerous. Looks like he got pressure on it pretty quick, and _I_ think his ribs are bruised. I can't feel any breaks, but he's going to be sore for a few days. He must have taken a bullet to the vest at close range, I'll have keep an eye on him for internal bleeding." Clemens squatted back on his heels and pulled his hair off his face. "I'll patch him up while he's out, I'm running low on pain killers and it'll be easier anyway." Standing upright he turned to collect his equipment, suddenly he turned back. "I am getting paid for all this, right?"

Fiona finished prying the flattened bullet out of Sam's discarded vest, bouncing the tiny piece of metal on the palm of her hand. "You'll get paid, and like I promised, I'll owe you. You get Michael and _him _though this and if anybody ever comes after you, they'll have to go through me first." She smiled at him. "Is that good enough?"

Clemens nodded numbly, turning away trying to get his head around the reward he was being offered. Fiona Glenanne's fearsome reputation preceded her wherever she went, and he was now under her wing.

Fiona was pleased to see Clemens return quickly and get to work repairing the angry looking deep furrow that even after several hours was still seeping blood and fluid on Sam's thigh. Once it was cleaned, stitched and wrapped with a clean bandage, they discovered their next problem. When they went to move their unconscious patient they realized Sam was too heavy for them to carry without risking more damage to his already battered body.

"We'll put him in the same room as Michael, that way when he comes around he can watch Michael for us while I deal with whatever comes up next."

Hoping Sam would wake up while they prepared his bed, they moved a single bed from one of the other bedrooms into the main bedroom across from where Michael lay restlessly sleeping. With the room and bed prepared, and Sam still out cold Clemens picked up a spare sheet. Between them they carefully rolled Sam onto it and then dragged him into the room.

"We have to take care moving him. If I'm wrong and he has broken a rib we could puncture a lung." Clemens commented as they looked at Sam's dead weight, and then at the bed.

"I have an idea." Fiona announced, and before Clemens could ask for an explanation she moved around to his right side, and drew back her foot delivering a hard kick to Sam's uninjured leg.

**()**

"Ow! Jeez! Ok I'm awake." Sam moaned.

Opening his eyes a crack he stared up at Fiona, who looked back down at him with an angry expression. _What the the hell did she have to be angry about?_

"A nine mil at close range." She snapped as if reading his mind, holding out a flattened bullet in her hand. "Really Sam, what the hell were you thinking?"

Sam creased his brow trying to work out what she was going on about. "Hey sister you should see the other guy." He growled back, noticing for the first time he was no longer on the floor just inside the door but somehow he had been moved into what had become Michael's bedroom. He also realized he had been out for sometime as he now had bandaged ribs and his pant leg had been cut away and the gouge caused by the bullet wound to his thigh was stitched up.

"Yeah well he better be in a worse state than you. Where's my car? And what did you bring back?"

"Your car's down the street I couldn't get it on the drive." He answered, grunting with the effort to sit up. Pleased at least that they had patched him up while he was unconscious.

Fiona nodded, and then squatted down beside him, her hand on his shoulder. "We need to get you to bed. Think you can get you're lard butt up off the floor?"

Her expression belied the harshness of the words, he could see the concern on her face. That was until she saw him looking. Getting quickly to her feet she crossed her arms over her chest. "Because if you can't get up, I'll go get you a blanket and you can stay there."

"Don't put yerself out sister, come on give me a hand here." Sam puffed.

With Clemens and Fiona's help Sam got to his feet, and leaning heavily on the medic managed to get in to his bed. He raised an eyebrow when Fiona covered his body with a sheet and produced another pillow so he could prop himself up.

"Oh don't get used to this Sam. I need you up on your feet as quickly as possible, so I can torture you myself."

He looked across to Michael, noticing his friend was no longer on the drip. "Mikey any better?"

"He pulled the I.V out during the storm." Fiona replied. "Did you find out what they've done to him?"

Sam bit his lip not knowing how to tell her, eventually he let out a sigh. "I had two of them but they're both dead. A woman, I think she was the one playing the nurse and a guy I don't remember seeing before. But I got their files. Hopefully there's something we can use."

"You killed her?" Fiona asked.

"No. I went for her gun and she took a bullet from her own side."

Fiona smirked. "Well it's better than she deserved." She glanced over at Michael's twitching form, and then handed Sam her phone. "Do you think you're capable of watching Michael while I go with Clemens to get my car and check out the damage done to the building?"

Sam took the phone. "Yes Fi." He growled. "I can watch the sleeping guy, there's nothing wrong with my eyesight."

"Ah-huh, Are you sure about that. I mean at your age."

"Go Fi, _please._" He had been on the verge of warning her about the condition of her car. But decided he needed a bit of a rest before he got slaughtered for the damage done to her baby.

Fiona gave him a brief nod before turning to where Michael lay curled up on his side. She touched a hand to his shoulder. He felt cold, and clammy, picking up the bed covers she pulled them over him. Before leaving with Clemens.

**()()**

Michael lay in a drug induced stupor, his limbs still jerking as his nervous system fighting the effects of withdrawal continued to send jolts of electricity through his extremities. Sweat rolled off his body, but he felt cold, chilled to the core, his bones feeling as if they were being turned to ice. The pain was too much for the sedation medication Clemens had given him to work fully. So he did what he always did when all seemed hopeless he thought of Fiona.

Fiona's voice soft and silky to his ears broke through all the pain that racked his body and pushed through the fog that filled his mind and muddled his memories.

"_Do you remember the time we climbed into that old factory in Amsterdam. We were both soaked to the bone and you'd cut your arm breaking the glass in the door." _

On the run from angry Dutch diamond smugglers, with no way forward or back and cut off from the side streets. Fiona had wanted to revert to her terrorist background and go down in a hail of bullets. But he grabbed her arm, and overruled her death wish by launching them both into the freezing waters of the Prinsengracht Canal. It was the middle of winter, in the middle of a storm the sounds of gunfire masked by the whistling gale force wind and the loud hiss of the rain that also helped disguise their route underwater.

In his delirium Michael's chest contracted as his mind fooled his body into thinking the chills that racked his body were caused by freezing canal water. Coughing and spluttering, he remembered how he kept hold of Fiona's hand, forcing her under the water and to keep moving. When he surfaced he had pulled her into his arms, she had been barely conscious. Her teeth chattering and her whole body shaking so badly he thought she was going to start to convulse.

The sweat beading on his forehead and running back through his hair and forward over his face, the aching numbing cold that invaded his body all forced him to relive that night.

"_Do you remember that night?" Fiona's sultry voice whispered._

He had climbed out of the water and pulled Fiona up on to the path clasping her shivering frame tightly to his chest. "You should have let me shoot them." She had stared up at him, her eyes shining under the dim street lights.

"And we would have both died." He had replied calmly.

Looking about he knew they couldn't stay in plain sight, Hendrickson's men would be coming. He should have killed the man instead of wounding him, but he had been more concerned with getting them both away safely.

It was then that he spotted the old factory, looking out of place next to the chic apartments that flanked either side of the run down building. The door took less than thirty seconds to breach using one of Fiona's hairpins.

Laying on his side Michael's fingers twitched, his shoulders hunched against the cold that pervaded every inch of his body. His mouth twisting as in his mind he struggled with numb shaking fingers to pick a heavy padlock.

As soon as they were inside they had barricaded the door and moved deeper into the building. Another door, this one had a glass panel and out of impatience he had smashed his hand through the glass to get inside.

"L-let me look at your ar-rrm." She had stuttered the words out. It was bloody but not too deep. "W-we n-need to find a f-first aid kit and I'll b-bandage it."

Michael rubbed at the bandage on his arm, scrubbing at it furiously. The chills had gone, replaced by a raging fever he ran his tongue over dry cracked lips. He wanted a drink, but cramping stomach muscles warned of the consequences.

"_They made mattresses. It was a mattress factory, we hid out there all night." Fiona's voice soothed. "It wasn't all bad, remember the good times."_

They had waited for an hour huddled against each other before they were sure they were safe. Then they had gone exploring their hideout. Feeling their way across the room and eventually into a large open space. Both of them stared with wide open eyes at the row upon row of plastic wrapped mattresses standing on end.

"Well at least we'll be comfortable." Fiona was still trembling, but managed a weak smile. "Now if we just had some nice linen this would be perfect."

"Perfect?" He was still trying to warm her holding her close against his body.

They continued through the building finding massive rolls of material. Opening a roll Michael had produced a knife, and cut several large squares.

"_What was it you said about getting warm? Shared bodily warmth and a positive mental attitude?" _

_That was wrong he didn't say that. She did._

"Fi we need to get out of these wet clothes." He had told her.

"I thought you would never ask." She gasped, stripping off what remained of her dress in one easy move and then grabbing at his shirt buttons. "I heard it once in a Bond movie." She ripped his shirt open and left him to take it off while she worked on his belt buckle and zipper. "Shared bodily warmth." Her lips caressed his chest. "And a positive mental attitude." She pulled the material around them both and headed for the nearest stack of mattresses.

"_How many of those beds did we try out in the end?"_

They had lain wrapped in each others arms, every part of their bodies touching. Lips locked in a deep ardent kiss, his hands had travelled over her back, and sides trying to warm her the way her hands and fingers were igniting a fire inside him.

Fiona had finally broken the contact. "This mattress is too soft." She had murmured into his ear.

He had grinned at her, lifting her easily until she was laying on top of him. "That better?" He had asked.

"A little." She had buried her head into the crook of his neck nipping at his flesh before kissing the same spot better. "I- just- need." She wriggled. "To get comfy." The last word had come out as a sigh.

Breathing heavily, and thoroughly warmed Michael shifted slightly, easing his hands up to run his fingers through her still damp hair. Cupping her face between his hands he had looked into her blue-green eyes, and then at her swollen and kiss bruised lips. "You're right this mattress is too soft."

She had laughed, lifting herself free of his body she had pulled him to his feet. "Let's find another."

By the time the sun was rising and the storeroom began to lighten there were five mattresses spread around them as it had developed into a game to find the one that was just right.

"_I'm sure you must think about that night sometimes."_

Memories of that night had kept him warm as he huddled in a cave high up in the mountains of Afghanistan. It had seen him through being tortured in Libya and it was one of the events that played in his mind when he thought of all the reasons why he left her with no note or warning. He had nearly got her killed, and she had just smiled at him, never once blaming him for his over confidence. Instead in a broken down old factory she had given him a night that had become embedded in his memory forever.

"_What was it the manager said when he came in, in the morning?"_

How could she ask that? Who cared what he had said they had escaped certain death and then had the best night of their lives. Who cared what some jumped up little bureaucrat had to say.

"_Michael? Hey Mikey! You Ok?" _

That wasn't Fiona, the masculine voice he thought he should know broke the spell and the pain returned with a vengeance. Forcing his eyes open, Michael tried to slow his rapid panting breaths back to a regular pattern.

"Fi. He's awake...Yeah I think he needs you...Hey! Little Miss Potty Mouth, it's not my fault the Saab has a crap roof. Talk to the manufacturer."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Ten**

"Hey! Little Miss Potty Mouth, it's not my fault the Saab has a crap roof. Talk to the manufacturer." Sam's voice came through Fiona's cell phone loud and clear, and then came the audible click as he hung up.

"_**Sam!**_ Dammit Sam. I'm not finished with you," Fiona shouted into her phone when the focus for all her anger ended the call. Letting loose with one final expletive, Fiona turned her attention back to her poor car.

She had expected to find a bit of blood on the seats, and maybe the odd scrape to the paintwork; after all she told herself it had been rather windy. What she hadn't expected, was to discover the seam along one side of the roof to have split and what appeared to be half the debris from the Florida Keys spread over the back seat.

The crunch of feet on loose gravel alerted Fiona to Billy Clemens presence. She looked up, pulling her hair back off her face for what felt like the hundredth time since stepping outside. "Michael's woken up, I thought you said he would be out for at least eight hours?" She snapped.

"He should have been," Clemens replied wincing as he bent down to peer in at the interior of the Saab. "Man, that's gonna take some cleaning up."

"Why don't you go see what's happening in the house, while I see to this. I'm not sure how safe Sam will be if I get my hands on him right now." Fiona reached for the hood release. "The damn thing won't start, and I can't leave here."

"Are you sure you don't want me to look at it?" Clemens lifted the hood, locking it in place.

"And what is that suppose to mean?"

"Er, I mean the car. I might have..." Clemens stopped talking, his eyes fixed on the screwdriver being twirled around in Fiona's dainty hand. He had only meant to ask her if she wouldn't prefer to check on Michael while he got the car running.

"Go do your job _Doctor _and let me get on with mine." She didn't wait for him to answer as her head and the top half her body disappeared from view.

Risking having the screwdriver buried in his skull, Clemens took one final look at Fiona's shapely rear end poking out from under the hood of the sports car before making his way back along the path to the house.

As soon as he stepped through the door, he could hear raised voices coming from the bedroom. Letting out a frustrated sigh he headed straight to the source of all the noise. _What did these people find so damn difficult about resting up, and letting wounds heal?_

"You're gonna end up on your ass brother...Dammit Mikey I've called Fi. Just wait will ya!" Sam Axe's scolding voice could be heard first.

"Em not tha' sick," came Michael's slurred reply. "I wan' get up."

Opening the door Clemens was greeted by the sight of Sam Axe sitting on the edge of his bed, his left arm wrapped tightly around his body protecting his damaged ribs. Clemens swore under his breath, before fully stepping into the room. He was tired, hungry and sick of dealing with people who didn't listen to a word he said.

Jabbing a finger at Sam he strode into the room. "You, get back in bed. If you bust them stitches you can damn well sew yourself up next time." The medic glared at an unabashed Sam, who stayed where he was on the edge of the bed.

"And you!" Clemens turned his attention to Michael who was on his feet swaying dangerously side to side. "You shouldn't even be awake. YeeeOW!"

The last part came as the medic put his hand on Michael's shoulder; intending to direct his errant patient back to bed. Instead found himself on his knees, his hand in the grip of Michael Westen, fingers bent back further than ever naturally intended. He felt the handgun Fiona had given him earlier pulled from his waistband.

"Hey! Ow! Tell him to let me go!" Clemens writhed against the pain.

"Mikey! Hey Mike, the doctor is on our side buddy." Sam called out, as he struggled to his feet.

Staring up at his assailant Clemens could see the confusion in his eyes. Biting down on his lip, as he tried to remain still, Clemens felt a pang of relief as Michael managed to fix his gaze on Sam Axe.

"Sam?" Recognition drove away the confusion as he focused on his old friend.

Sam grinned as best he could, given he was in agony and balancing precariously on one leg. "That's right. So you gonna let the doc go? We kinda need him at the moment."

As soon as he was released Clemens scurried away, clutching at his sore hand.

"Where's Fiona?" Sam asked, keeping a careful watch on Michael and the gun he was holding.

"Outside trying to get her car to start." Clemens answered, his eyes darting between the two men. "Michael you really need to lay down man. That sedative I gave you should have let you sleep for longer..."

"I need the bathroom." Michael muttered as he took a wobbly step forward.

"Ok. How about Billy here showing you the way? And then you go back to bed." Sam gestured for Clemens to get to his feet and help his friend.

Michael nodded. " 'Kay." He muttered.

Clemens got to his feet and cautiously took hold of Michael's arm and equally carefully removed the gun from slack fingers, dropping it on the bed. "C'mon this way." He was pleasantly surprised when Michael took a hesitant shuffling step and allowed Clemens to direct him into the en-suite.

**()**

With a sigh of relief, Sam eased himself back into his bed. Ever since he had woken up on the bedroom floor all the aches and pains he had pushed to the back of his mind had come to the fore. Any little movement sent a sharp jabbing pain through his side which took his breath away and his left thigh was one big throbbing ache. Laying back on the piled up pillows he shut his eyes and revelled in the peace and quiet. That was right up to the bedroom door being flung open so hard it bounced off the wall.

"You were set up! They must have been waiting for somebody to come nosing round." Fiona raged throwing a small electronic device onto Sam's bed. "The car wouldn't start. When I checked it over I found _this_ wired into the electrics."

Wearily Sam forced himself to sit up, and picked up the tracker, turning it over in his hands. "Well this is a surprise," he mused.

Fiona spun round to face him. "What's so surprising Sam? You got ambushed, why are you shocked that they would bug your car, _my car _as well_?_"

"The FSB sprung for some top flight equipment. That's the surprise." Sam held the device up. "It doesn't even look Russian made."

"What do you mean?" Fiona asked, snatching the tracker back to take a second look.

"I mean, _if_ this is a FSB sanctioned mission, then they've suddenly started supplying their agents with top of the line equipment." Sam explained.

Fiona stared back at Sam as she realized the significance of his words. "We should leave here as soon as possible." She looked around. "Where's Michael?"

"He wanted to use the bathroom and wasn't gonna take no for an answer, he nearly broke the doc's hand to make his point."

"He's up?" Hope flared in her eyes but faded when the bathroom door opened and Michael came into view leaning heavily against Clemens.

"_Michael_." Fiona sighed, forgetting about Russians and trackers for that moment as she stepped towards him. Her hand splaying out on his chest, feeling the heat coming off his body and the rapid thud of his heartbeat coming from beneath her palm.

"Fi." He stared down at her, through pain filled eyes, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek.

She smiled up at him, this was an improvement. "How are you feeling?"

" 'm fine." He muttered into her hair as he leaned forward.

"No, you're not, not yet," she eased him back, this close she could see the faint blue-grey tinge to his lips and feel the tremors that ran through his hand onto her cheek. "Lets get you back to bed."

Slipping her shoulder under his arm she helped Clemens guide him back to the bed and under the covers. "You need to rest." She told him, combing her fingers through his sweat dampened hair.

"No more drugs," he muttered, his eyes sliding closed before he forced them back open.

"No more drugs, I promised remember?" Fiona spoke softly, letting her fingers trail over his eyes encouraging him to rest.

He nodded, curling onto his side. "Thirsty." The word was muffled by the pillow he buried his head into.

"I'll make up a drink for him." Clemens got to his feet. "Make sure he stays put, please."

With Michael safely laying down, and Clemens off in the kitchen making up an isotonic drink for his patient. Fiona turned her attention back to Sam.

"Once he's settled I'll go and see what transport I can get us, and we'll get out of here."

"It's probably too late Fi." Sam answered softly. He had been racking his brain trying to come up with a plan. "We're on a strip of land with one way on and off. I mean, if they're professionals they've probably already got somebody watching the bridge. Just think about it, how long have I been back? Because I bet once the Saab was stopped for more than five minutes they started closing in."

Sam waited for the explosion; which didn't come. Instead Fiona began to smile. Getting to her feet she walked towards him.

"I should be annoyed with you, I mean because of your truly incompetent performance..."

"It woulda happened to you too missy. I thought ….." Sam broke in angrily, his words cut off when Fiona waved a hand airily in his face.

"Forget about it. I forgive you," she smiled magnanimously. "Because _now_ I get to play with the bastards."

"Fi." Sam wasn't happy with look on her face. There was a glint in her eyes, as she began to plan some mischief. "We have to catch them first Fi, and in case you haven't noticed they outnumber us." He warned, knowing he had little hope of stopping whatever it was that she planned to do.

Fiona appeared to give it a thought. "You're right. I need to think about this. I need to check the trunk of the Saab see what toys you picked up for me."

"You start blowing holes in parts of Key West you're going to bring the cops straight down on us." Sam was sat on the edge of the bed now, giving up all hope of getting any rest.

"Er, that's not quite true." Clemens butted in from where he sat next to Michael trying to prop his patient up to give him a drink.

"Pardon?" Fiona instantly perked up.

"Well," Clemens ignored Sam's vigorous head shaking. "The police and emergency services are all going to be too busy with the storm damage to be bothered by a little bit of gunfire at a remote location. I mean unless somebody reports the noise who'll know out here?"

"Jeez Clemens thanks for that," Sam drawled "I mean it's not like I'm gonna have ta explain to the ex, why her beach house has been turned into a bunch of kindling."

"Nonsense Sam," Fiona dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. "It just means if we can catch them, we get to keep them, at least for a while."

Sam thought the dreamy look on her face, was more scary than the knowledge that there was a Spetsnaz team coming after them. "You are not blowing this place out into the Atlantic Lady." Sam growled. "Think of another plan."

"A plan for what?" Michael spoke up from where he was propped up against the headboard, his voice sounding wheezy. "A plan for what?" He asked again, weakly pushing away the drink Clemens was trying to get him to swallow.

"It's nothing for you to worry about. We're dealing with it." Fiona announced, turning to face him.

"Sam?" Michael wasn't going to give in. "Sam? Look one of you tell me." He broke off coughing and with a groan clutched at his stomach rolling on to his side. "Tell me what's going on."

"Just tell him, before he does any more damage." Clemens grumbled, placing the drink onto the bedside table, before trying to get his patient to sit up again.

Fiona came over the the bedside to help Clemens. "Sam went to where you were being held, looking for information about the men who took you. Well they must have worked out what we would do because Sam came back with a tracker attached to my car."

Between them Fiona and Clemens got Michael propped up again. Fiona took the drink and pushed the straw towards Michael's lips. "You're becoming dehydrated again. You have to drink or you'll never get better."

He took a sip before trying to push it away again. "A tracker? Who...?" He scrunched up his face trying to clear his mind. "Has somebody been drugging me?"

"Michael we've..." Fiona paused, closing her eyes for a moment to pull herself together. Michael's memory problems were worrying her more than she cared to admit. "That's right, and those people are on their way here now."

"Who are they?" He hid his trembling hands beneath the bed covers.

"They're Russian, the leader is a man called Markov he is an interrogation specialist."

"How long... How long did he have me?"

"A month." Fiona replied softly, wondering what effect this news was going to have on him.

Michael blinked. "What did I tell him?"

"We don't know. Can't you remember?"

He shook his head. "I remember..." He closed his eyes as he realized he actually remembered very little. There were odd feelings of being tied down, of injections and of pills being forced down his throat. Of having no will to fight. He took another sip of the drink Fiona offered him, his eyes sliding shut as tiredness over took him. He flinched when a small cool hand pressed against his forehead.

"You need to rest now." Fiona told him.

"You haven't told me why you need a plan." He murmured.

"I tol..." She paused, telling him she had already given him the information would not help their situation.

He caught hold of her hand and held it to his lips for a second before holding it to his chest. "Tell me. Please."

"There are a bunch of Russian special ops coming here."

"Trap them inside." He muttered his voice already fading. "Let them breach then trap them."

"What?" Fiona asked but she could see she wasn't going to get a proper answer. His skin was already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. At least for a little while he had been coherent. She turned to look a Sam who only looked in marginally better condition. "Do you know what he meant?"

"Yeah. FSB always use the same tactics to assault a building they surround it first, blocking off all the exits and then on a signal they all breach from different locations at the same time." Sam took a breath before continuing. "Mikey wants us to let Markov into the house and then trap them inside. Veronica is going to kill me for wrecking her little beach getaway."

Fiona thought about it. "This can work." She was positively beaming. "Sam you get some rest. Billy you come with me." There was no telling how much time they had, so they needed to work quickly, and she had everything she needed in the car.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Eleven**

_Americans, so predictable. Did they think we wouldn't watch the street? That would we would not be ready for them coming back to search for information? It was a shame that Gerda and Pieter both died. Luckily their incompetence did not effect the outcome. While the American was getting shot, we managed to wire a tracker into his car; Michael Westen will be back in our hands by the end of the day._

Viktor Markov smirked, as he sat in the front passenger seat of a large black SUV travelling along the overseas highway towards Key West, and the beach front property which marked the Saab's final location.

He had a man already in place watching the target building from the beach. By the time he arrived with the rest of his men, the scout would have all the relevant information for a successful assault.

Resting his head back against the headrest Markov closed his eyes. This time they would do things the way he had wanted to from the start. He would put Westen in to a coma, and they would smuggle him over to Cuba, and from there back home to Russia. Then, he could take his time, and drag every single piece of information out of Westen's head.

**()()**

"Billy, you come with me," with a wave of her hand Fiona walked out of the bedroom.

Clemens heard the imperious order, and stared in amazement first at Sam who looked furious, and then at the retreating form of Fiona Glennane.

"I mean it lady!" Sam shouted. "I'm not gonna let you blow up 'Ronnie's beach hideaway."

There was silence for a moment, and then a loud bang as the front door slammed shut. "Well get after her," Sam ordered when he saw that the medic wasn't budging.

Leaving the bedroom Clemens hurried outside. He could see Fiona striding along the path to where the Saab was still parked, at the entrance to the private road leading to the beach house.

"_**Fiona!**_"

She was so wrapped up in all her own plans Fiona didn't hear Clemens calling out to her.

"**Fiona!**" He called out in an even louder tone, and when that got no response he increased his speed, finally managing to get in front of her. Coming to a stop he stuck his arms out sidewards, blocking the path.

"Fiona. Please, give me a minute will ya? Please?" He waited with bated breath, half expecting to get knocked on his ass.

"Be quick." Her eyes flashed with displeasure.

"Thank you.." He took a deep breath, and then continued. "Have you given any thought to how Michael is going to react if you start shooting, or blowing holes in the walls around him. I mean he couldn't cope with the noise from the storm."

Fiona bristled at his words. "Michael will manage. He's getting better. We can explain it to him." She dismissed his concerns, taking a step forward, but coming to a stop when Clemens nervously held his ground.

"No he won't." Clemens knew he was pushing his luck, but he held his ground. "He'll freak out as soon as the shooting starts, and you know it. You have to get him away from here."

"Him or you, Billy? You've been wanting to getaway, ever since I dragged you here." She pushed past him, reaching the rear of the Saab before he caught up with her a second time.

He just managed to stop himself grabbing hold of her arm. "You're right, this isn't my gig. I patch people up, I don't shoot them or..." He looked into the now open trunk of the Saab. "Or blow them up."

She gave him a tight little smile, then before he could refuse she handed him a heavy bag loaded with all her favorite guns and explosive making materials. "Well as you are _definitely staying _we need to broaden your education don't we. Come." She slammed the trunk shut and walked back towards the house.

Gripping the handle of the bag with two hands Clemens trailed after Fiona. "Hey lady you really need to hear what I have to say!" He called out.

"What now?" Fiona demanded impatiently, she had explosives to set.

"If you care about your friend in there, just listen to me." He dropped the bag on to the floor with a huff.

Fiona read the seriousness in his eyes, and nodded. "Go ahead."

He took a breath. "If you are going to ignore my advice, I want you to think about this; your friend is going though major drug withdrawal. His pulse is nearly double what it should be, and his blood pressure is dangerously low. He is also dehydrated. There have been two seizures that _we_ know about, and regardless of what _you_ think I'm telling you _he_ can't take much more stress without something giving way."

The doctors bluntness caused Fiona to pause.

_She had been thinking too small, she was going to have to bring this to an end, quickly. She was done with playing around. Sam was maybe capable of holding a gun but he wasn't mobile, Michael was possibly the biggest liability in the room, and Clemens, Clemens was the unknown._

"Have you fired a gun before?"

"Have you listened to a word...?" He stopped talking when she punched him on the arm.

"Answer the question. Have you ever fired a gun?"

"Of course I have..."

"Have you ever shot a man?" She noticed the grim look on his face. And then he gave a sharp nod of his head. "Good, it'll make this a lot easier."

She started on her way again, stopping to glare at him until he picked the bag up and followed meekly behind. Clemens was surprised when she led him to the utility room.

"I want the shutter controls jammed so they can't be raised. I'm guessing as a local you know how these things work?" She asked.

He nodded, before reaching for a screwdriver. "You've not listened to a word I've said have you? I've heard all the stories about you. Nearly every smuggler in the Keys has a Fiona Glenanne story to tell. The crazy woman, with a love for blowing up anybody who gets in her way."

She smiled at him pleased at how far her reputation had spread. "Oh don't worry yourself Billy I have a plan. It worked against a few members of the Ulster Defence Force who found me in Paris six years ago. I'm sure it will work here."

He shook his head and turned away, he thought about running away but knew if he did that all the goodwill he had built up would vanish in an instant, and if Fiona survived the encounter with the Russians her next stop would be to come after him. He opened the control panel for the shutters. All he had to do was cut the power and they would be locked down. He wondered what else she had planned.

Fiona entered the bedroom, Sam was sleeping still propped up the pillows. She thought he looked exhausted, leaving him to sleep she turned to check on Michael. He was laying on his side, watching her silently.

"Hey," she whispered, stroking his cheek gently.

She watched as he swallowed, and blinked, his eyes never leaving her face. When he didn't speak she dropped down to the floor next to his bed.

"The bad guys are on the way. I have a plan to stop them," she told him. As she spoke she pulled the supplies she needed out of the bag, all the detonator cord Sam had packed plus the C4 and some detonators that they had made before he had disappeared.

"Sam is going to hate this plan, and there is going to be some big bangs. The doctor, Clemens he thinks you won't be able to cope but I know better."

She kept up the chatter as she worked, Michael watched silently his eyes following everything she did intently. "I know you'll be fine. You're always fine. Sam on the other hand is going to want to kill me. He has never appreciated my skills."

Once she was finished, she collected all the charges she had made and got to her feet. She pressed a light kiss to Michael's forehead, feeling the burning heat coming from his skin. "You'll be fine. You're getting better." She told him with a gentle soft smile.

Walking away, she set about preparing her trap, this was going to end today. If she had to kill every Russian in Key West to accomplish her task.

She was standing on a chair, running det cord along the top of the wall when Billy Clemens came rushing into the room.

"There's a man on the beach, he's got binoculars and he's looking this way. Do you think it's one of the bad guys?"

Fiona grinned, _it was going to be over with soon._ "Yes." She got down from her perch. "I'll show you what I want you to do." _Everything was coming together perfectly._

After getting Clemens in position Fiona moved on to one of the trickier bits of her plan. She was glad that Sam had slept through all the preparations. However now she needed him awake.

Standing next to his bed with her favorite pump action shotgun in her hand she placed the weapon next to his ear and racked a cartridge into the chamber with a harsh double click.

Hearing a shotgun being armed so close to his head Sam shot up and promptly fell back gasping in pain as his ribs protested the movement. "What the hell Fi?" He grumbled loudly grabbing the shotgun from her hands. "Give that here before you hurt somebody with it."

She snatched it back. "Libya was the last time I let you separate me from my weapons." She replied. Waiting for him to notice her decorating of Veronica's bedroom.

Sam realized something was up, the way the midget psychopath was smiling. He sat up carefully taking care of his ribs and leg. It was then he noticed streamers of det cord around the walls. Then he spotted several small blocks of C4 wired up and set into the corners of the room. She appeared to have turned the bedroom into one massive bomb.

"_**What the hell! Are you crazy? Get that stuff down now!**_" He yelled. Wincing as the effort to yell hurt his ribs and made breathing difficult.

"I have a plan." She stated calmly. "And I will not take my work of art down. C4 soothes me."

"Fiona you are not blowing up Veronica's beach house with a load of Russians inside."

"Really? And how do you plan on stopping me."

She looked across to where Michael was silently watching them. He had hardly drunk any of the rehydrate drink Clemens had made up. And the doctor had made it very clear exactly how ill he was. It was because of Michael she was taking things to this extreme, she was going to end it all in one go.

As she stood there staring at Michael she let her guard down just long enough for Sam to make his move. Before she had a chance to retaliate the shotgun was pulled from her hand, and the cartridges emptied.

"Sam! If you wasn't so badly banged up I'd knock you on your ass. I have it all worked out will you just listen?" For a second time she snatched the now empty gun out of his hands. Watching him sink back on his bed.

"Ok missy, but before you do anything. Why the new decor?"

"I'll explain it all, I promise. But first we need to get Michael up and try to get him to understand what is about to happen. Because when this goes down I'm going to need you to keep him calm and still. I'm going to be too busy."

"What about Clemens? Have you sent him home?"

"No, Billy has a very important role to play in my plan." She replied with a dimpled grin.

**()()**

Two large black SUVs pulled up, just before the entrance to Veronica's private road, four men and one woman climbed out of the vehicles. A tall thin man with stooped shoulders and a shock of unruly hair directed the others to arm themselves while he walked over to where another man stood watching the shuttered beach house.

"You've confirmed Westen is in there?" This was Markov, or as Michael knew him Doctor Vincent.

The scout shook his head. "No. I have seen the car, and the small skinny woman who was at the extraction and one other man. There is no way to tell who else is inside."

Markov nodded his understanding. "So the man, Axe he is here, and the woman Glenanne. Yes, I'm sure Westen will be inside." He decided, there was no way those two would rescue Westen and not stay with him. "How do we get in?"

"There are only three entry points." The scout explained his findings. "The front door, a door to the side and the garage doors. We will go in, drive the people inside back and take control of the out number them, Axe and Westen are injured that just leaves the woman and the unknown man. Two against six it is good odds."

Markov smiled, he was already thinking about getting back home to Russia and his laboratories.

Markov and his team split into three groups to breach the building. Once in position, Markov gave the signal and they broke through all three doors at once.

**()()**

Clemens watched the two men who came through the garage doors. Staying hidden high up, perched in the rafters he waited for the men to silently creep through the garage and into the utility room. Once he was sure they had moved on he slipped down, and followed behind them. Pulling the utility door shut behind them. As soon as the door lock clicked he ran back into the garage and ducked down behind a stack of deckchairs.

A moment later came a loud bang and cries of pain and shock. Clemens stayed huddle down knowing that was only the start of the many surprises Fiona had rigged for the intruders. As if to make that point another loud crashing bang rang out accompanied by what sounded like falling masonry.

**()()**

Michael lay on the en-suite bathroom floor, wrapped in a couple of duvets. His eyes were still open but Fiona wasn't sure how much he was actually seeing. His lips moved, but no words were coming out and every now and again his limbs would spasm.

Sam stood at the bathroom door keeping watch. While Fiona sat next to Michael, explaining to him over and over again what was about to happen. Hoping at least some of what she said reached him.

**Bang!**

The first of the charges Fiona had set in the door handles went off. The loud bang, caused Michael to jump and his muscles to jerk and lock. Fiona lay a hand on his arm. "It's alright we talked about this, remember there will be some..."

**Bang!**

The second charge went off and it was all she could do to keep him still. "Shhh." She ran her fingers through his hair. "We spoke about this remember? It will all be over soon." She lay a kiss on his forehead, trying to soothe him.

"They're regrouping." Sam commented from where he stood at the bathroom door.

Fiona nodded getting to her feet, pulling her hand free of Michael's grip. "I have to go now." She told him.

"No, no, no, no..." Michael grabbed at her as she moved away.

She looked back. "This is going to be over soon, Michael. All you have to do is hang on a little while longer." At the door she paused, Michael was struggling weakly, trying to free himself from the bed covers they had wrapped him in. Then she looked at Sam. "Keep him safe."

"Take care sister." Sam answered seriously. He checked the load in his own handgun one final time and then closed the bathroom door as Fiona made her way across the bedroom.

"Get em in a choke point. No escape, can't get out. Now face em. This is the risky bit if they spot a weakness they'll kill you. Gotta be crazier than they are."

Sam turned to where Michael lay, no longer fighting to get to his feet. Instead he was staring at the ceiling muttering the same words over and over again.

The staccato rattatat-tat of a gun being fired on fully automatic made Michael jump but didn't stop his mumbling. It made Sam curse, and swear wondering how, if they got out of this mess alive, he was going to explain all the damage to Veronica.

**()()**

After shutting the bathroom door Fiona instantly became all business Pushing all her fears about Michael to the back of her mind. She settled her mac 10 in her right hand, and in the left she held a detonator.

"_**Gentlemen.**_"

She swung the door open and found herself facing four heavily armed men. A man and a woman were down, the man was dead and the woman seriously injured and in need of urgent medical attention.

She continued to speak in a loud clear voice. "Look around. Look around the ceilings. You already know what I've done to the doors. See this in my hand?" She held up the detonator. This is my thumb on a dead man's switch. You shoot me or do anything that makes me drop it, we all die."

Silence reigned as the Russian team took in what she said. Markov stood at the back of the group. He wasn't a soldier, he relied on his second in command to make tactical decisions.

"I think you're bluffing." The second in command announced raising his gun.

Fiona fired off a quick burst of rounds into the floor in front of his feet driving the man backwards in a shower of marble shards that exploded upwards.

"I don't bluff. Ask him?" She gestured with the barrel of the gun at Markov she had recognized him from his picture. "Tell them who I am."

Markov hated being the centre of attention especially during a gunfight but knowing he had no choice he stepped forward and nodded. "Fiona Glenanne. Irish terrorist. Explosives expert and sniper." Markov answered. "And she doesn't bluff. What do you want Ms Glenanne?"

"I want you to disarm, and drop to your knees."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twelve**

**While Michael and Sam slept, Fiona had taken ex-army doctor Billy Clemens through his part in her plan to surprise their unwanted visitors.**

"_You take the can, remove the top and all the contents." Clemens gave Fiona's lesson in 'building a better booby trap' his full attention._

"_Now pull the pin on the grenade and place it inside the can. The can takes over from your hand."_

_She made him complete six devices in total, supervising his every move. "Now wrap the fishing line around the top of the grenade, and I'll show where to position the tripwires for maximum effect._

**()()**

Billy Clemens had only just ducked down behind a stack of deckchairs in the garage when the first of Fiona' 'little surprises' went off. She had packed the locks on the doors with C4, and set the detonators to fire the first time the handle was operated from inside the house.

He glanced down with trepidation at the small wooden box containing six open tin cans holding grenades sitting on the floor next to him. A second explosion rocked the once pristine beach house and Clemen's jumped, remembering all the things he hated about being in a war zone.

"Gentlemen!" Fiona's voice rang out clearly.

It was his signal to move. Gulping nervously he rose up from his hiding place, slipping the Glock G20 handgun that he had been clutching in his hand into his waistband.

"Look around. Look around the ceilings."

Clemens was beginning to realize why 'you never messed with Fiona Glenanne.' As she took command of the confrontation taking place.

With all the bad guys inside watching Fiona, Clemens crept towards the large ragged hole which had once been the utility room door, and frame. In his hand he held one of the grenades in a can. Clemens lay the can on top of the counter top and unwrapped some of the fishing line from around the grenade sitting inside. Taking the other end he tied it around one of the many lumps of rubble, making a tripwire. If somebody caught the wire it would cause the grenade to leave the can and detonate.

"I think your bluffing."

Clemens was surprised that the Russian spoke with such an immaculate American accent.

He was setting up a second tripwire in the utility room when the staccato crackle of a fully automatic machine pistol was fired. The noise made him jump and fumble with the grenade can, almost dropping it onto the floor. Freezing in place he expected to be discovered, but Fiona was holding all their attention.

"Tell them who I am." He could hear her demanding their attention.

Finishing in the utility room he went back to the garage. This was the hardest part for him, he had absolutely no idea if there were any men still outside. He hoped there wasn't, Fiona had reassured him that when things started going boom anybody outside would come rushing in. As nobody had, he had to assume he was safe.

Slipping out of the garage door he made his way around the house towards the side door. The entrance to the house was in a similar state to the utility room door, blown to pieces along with all the surrounding masonry.

Working quickly he set up tripwires and grenades around that space as well. He risked a look inside. But ducked down when he saw the four intruders left on their feet were all pointing their guns at Fiona who was still standing with the detonator in her hand.

"Before we do anything you should ask Michael what he wants. _MICHAEL!_ I take it he is still here?"

"Wherever Michael is, is none of your concern." Came Fiona's coldly worded reply.

Clemens hurriedly moved on, running down the path until he found two black SUVs. After trying all the handles he realized they were locked. Looking around he found a large rock, picking it up he hurled it at the glass shattering the window.

**Bang**

As the glass shattered, another explosion came from the house. Ignoring the sound, hoping things were still going their way Clemens began to search the vehicle. Fiona had told him to gather up any paperwork, laptops, pen drives anything that could hold useful information. Once he had gone through one car he broke into the second car.

**()()**

"What do you want Ms Glenanne?" Markov demanded.

"I want you to disarm, and drop to your knees." Fiona replied calmly.

Markov cracked a smile. "Really Fiona? May I call you Fiona? Ms Glenanne sounds so formal don't you think?" He took a moment to gesture to his men before looking back at her. "_We_ outnumber you, and _I_ don't believe _you_ are suicidal."

"If that's what _you_ believe then you've not done your research properly." Fiona answered calmly, raising the detonator in her hand a little higher.

She caught sight of Clemens out of the corner of her eye, and worked even harder to keep the intruders attention on her. "Here's my final offer. You get on your knees, and we'll tie you up. And after we leave, we'll call the cops." She could see they were unimpressed with her offer.

"If not, you should know apart from what you can see, I've also hidden charges all over the house. You won't get out alive without my help. So, surrender and get to live, or fight and you all die. Your choice."

"Before we do anything maybe we should first ask Michael what he wants. MICHAEL! I take it he's still here?" Markov looked around, until his penetrating gaze fixed on a spot behind her.

"Wherever Michael is, is none of your concern." Fiona had hoped Markov hadn't heard the noise that came from the bathroom.

That hope was dashed as the man's smile grew even wider.

"Ah, I can tell he hasn't forgotten me. How is he? Last time we stopped his medication he lasted three days before he suffered a heart attack." Markov tried to peer past her into the bedroom. "I take it you have resuscitation equipment ready for use, and a doctor on standby to treat him... No.. Well here's my counter offer, you give me Michael, clear us a way out and I'll make sure he stays alive."

Fiona stared at the man in horror, her anger was reaching a point where she barely had any control. She lifted her gun aiming above their heads firing into the light fitting which instantly exploded with a **Bang! **bringing down part of the ceiling on the intruders.

"You want him so badly try and take him." She snarled, turning the gun so it pointed straight at Markov's stomach. "But _you_ die first."

Markov paused to take stock of the situation, knocking pieces of plaster off his shoulders. He glanced at the rest of his men and then studied the exits. "Boris, go check out outside."

Fiona, smiled grimly, keeping her gun on Markov. While watching Boris as he walked past the injured woman and over to where there had once been a side door. He took two steps over the rubble filling the space **BANG!** and promptly got blown back across the room his body, a bloody mess landing limply on the floor.

"Like I said there is no way out for you. Surrender or we all die together. That's my only offer. You're not getting your claws into Michael ever again."

**()()**

"Get em in a choke point. No escape, can't get out. Now face em. This is the risky bit if they spot a weakness they'll kill you. Gotta be crazier than they are." Michael sat on the bathroom room floor wrapped in a warm duvet, chanting the same words over and over again as he tried desperately to keep control of his shattered nerves.

**Rattatat-tat! **followed instantly by a **Bang!** and the sound of falling debris.

The sound sent his muscles into another spasm, he continued his chant through a tightly clenched jaw. His teeth grinding together, as his heart already beating so rapidly he thought it would burst through his chest, stuttered and a sharp pain contracted his chest.

"Get em in a choke point... No escape, can't get out... Now face em... This... the risky bit... If they spot a weakness they'll k-kill you. Got-gotta be... crazier th-than they are." The words were barely more than a whisper, pushed out with every forced breath. He stared up at the bright light above his head, wishing it would all end.

It came to him in a brief flash of lucidity, Fiona's plan was going to fail. She was letting them negotiate.

"She's, takin' too long. Too long. Too long. She has ter push em. Too long. She's takin' too long." He could dimly make out a shape across the room.

"MICHAEL!"

His eyes went wide, Doctor Vincent? They had told him the doctor wasn't real. Michael was scrabbling to find his footing, breaking free of the duvet he staggered towards the door and the figure blocking his way out.

"Hey Mikey! Steady there." He heard Sam's voice dimly, almost lost in the roaring sound that filled his ears. He felt strong hands grab hold of his arms, restraining him. He needed to get out there to see for himself. They told him Vincent wasn't real, somebody was lying.

"No. His not real not real." Michael managed to locked his eyes on Sam. "You told me he wasn't real." He accused.

**BANG!**

The sound of the grenade going off sent both men flat to the ground, years of military service taking over their bodies without need for conscious thought. The pain in Michael's chest was making breathing harder by the second, he tried to curl into himself but his limbs were acting on their own as his nerve endings demanded the chemicals that had been missing from his body for over forty eight hours.

Hands hooked under his arms and he was dragged backwards, then manoeuvred so he was back against the wall. Strong fingers dug into his jaw forcing his head up off his chest.

"Mike! Dammit, Mikey look at me." He recognized Sam's voice he sounded pissed.

"Huh?" Michael opened his eyes, and after a second managed to focus on Sam's face.

"Mikey, you've gotta listen to me. You've been drugged, and interrogated. They've filled you up on babble juice." His eyes slid away, none of this was making sense. The fingers holding his jaw tightened. "Come on. _You_ know what that feels like. _You've_ been through it before. I know it's hard, but you've got to take control."

_Ok that made sense. He had been drugged. _He reached up with a shaking hand and weakly pulled at Sam's hand. He felt his jaw being released and his head sagged slightly before he brought it back up on his own.

"I c-can't s-stop it." He spoke slowly doing his best to keep control remembering long ago training. "P-pain in my arms an' l-legs. M-my head I can't ho- hold a thought." He tried to make Sam understand

"It's ok buddy, all you have to do is sit still and let me and Fi handle it. But we can't do it if you're gonna fight us." He was rewarded by Sam's softly spoken reply.

Michael nodded, his eyes screwed up in pain. "F-Fi's taking to long. He's gonna wear h-her down."

Sam nodded and helped his friend back to the floor. "You promise to stay there? You don't move until one of us come and get you."

Michael was already slipping away again, the pain coursing through his body and attacking his nervous system was too strong to fight.

**()()**

Restraining Michael had almost wiped out Sam's reserves. He patted his friend on the shoulder and then gently laid him on his side on the floor. Wrapping his trembling body back in the duvet. With Michael secure, and unlikely to move again, Sam used the wall as an aid to get back to his feet. The throbbing ache coming from his ribs was nothing compared to the burning sensation coming from his thigh. Looking down he saw a spot of red slowly spreading over the once pristine white bandage on his thigh. It was as he thought, the tussle with Michael had burst at least one of the stitches.

Taking a deep breath, Sam ignored the pain and fatigue and took a step forward. By the time he made it to the bathroom door, he could feel the bandage had become sodden with blood, each step opening the wound further. There was nothing he could do about it now, because if Michael was right Markov was keeping Fiona talking hoping she would make a mistake. As much as he hated the idea of more destruction he needed to get things moving out there.

**()()**

"Like I said there is no way out for you. Surrender or we all die together. That's my only offer. You're not getting your claws into Michael ever again." Fiona felt the weight of the detonator in her hand growing heavier.

Markov was staring at his man Boris, now laying dead thrown ten feet backwards from the space where the side door had been. Tearing his eyes away from the mangled body he looked across to his second in command, the man swivelled his eyes to motion at the detonator in Fiona's drooping hand. Markov's lips twitched in a minute smile.

"Claws? Really Fiona, I did not realize you could be so dramatic. There is barely a mark on his body, apart from the ones he did to himself. We just need to have a little talk, once he answers our questions we might even let him go."

"I'm not telling you again. On your knees."

She aimed at Markov's stomach, ready to shoot. She had hoped to keep them grouped together but the three remaining Russians had managed to spread themselves out she realized she was now only covering Markov. The other two were on either side of her, if she fired it might give the other two time to take her down. She tightened her grip on the detonator, if they killed her she would take them all along for the ride. Michael and Sam should be safe in the bathroom.

"Please, let's be reasonable you are a young woman why would you want to die for a man who doesn't even care about you?"

Her finger tightened on the trigger of her gun, this final burst would empty the weapon and then she would have no choice but to release the detonator. Markov smiled knowing exactly what was going through her head. She was outnumbered, and he was positive she didn't want to die.

"You shoot me and my men will kill you. You hold a gun to my head I hold three to yours."

"Yeah buddy now there's another gun pointed at your head so you get to die twice. Don't turn round Fi, I've got a gun in each hand and I'm covering the other two sneaky sons of bitches."

Sam's voice had never been so welcome. She could see Markov weighing up the change in the odds. She had no idea what state Sam was in, but he was obviously standing and apparently capable of holding a gun in each hand.

"Well?" Fiona concentrated on Markov. Forgetting the other two now that Sam had her back.

Markov took a moment to think about his chances, and glanced at his remaining men. Then very slowly they all threw their guns away and dropped to their knees. "Don't think this is over. More will come, and they won't be as nice as me."

Sam was using a wall as support, trying to take the weight off his injured leg. He was also getting short on patience. He fired a shot past Markov's ear making the man duck. "Keep your mouth shut fella." He growled. "Fi I'll cover them while you make that detonator safe."

Sam turned his attention to Markov. "Oh I think your bosses are going to be too busy explaining what their people were doing blowing up a Key West beach house, to send anybody else. At least for a while." Sam smirked.

Fiona moved fast, unsure how long Sam would be able to stay upright and also because she was worried about what had happened to Michael. With the detonator made safe, and the prisoners secured with cable ties around their wrists and ankles, she turned towards the bathroom.

"Sam, where's Michael?"

"He's fine Fi. A little shook up by all the noise but he was resting when I came out here."

Fiona nodded but her attention was firmly on Markov. She remembered his words from earlier. _'Last time we stopped his medication he lasted three days before he suffered a heart attack.' _As much as she wanted to go and check on Michael herself she had something else she needed to do.

"Good. Me and Markov here are going to go into the other bedroom, and we're going to have a little chat about what he did to Michael."

Sam looked at the devastation. "Where's Clemens? And what about all the little traps you've left about the place?"

"You'll be fine Sam." Fiona smiled. "Jut don't touch anything. Billy had a few chores to do for me. "I'd call him but Markov here used a cell jammer and cut the phone lines."

He watched as Fiona reloaded the her gun and picked up a tazer she had left just inside the bedroom door.

"Do you think this _woman_ is going to get me to talk?" Markov spat. " I'm a specialist, there is nothing... aaargghhh."

Markov collapsed his body shaking out of control as Fiona sent a jolt from the tazer through his body.

"Talk or scream it's all the same to me." Fiona smiled down at the semi-conscious man. "But in the end you're going to tell me exactly what you've done to Michael."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirteen**

Billy Clemens sat on the ground and stared at the large box of files he had found in the trunk of one of the SUVs. Out of curiosity he took out a couple of the plain grey cardboard folders and flicked through the pages inside before with an annoyed grunt he stuffed them all back in to the box; they were all written in what he guessed was Russian.

Turning his attention to a Laptop he had discovered on the front seat of one of the vehicles he switched it on and wasn't terribly surprised to find it password protected. Pausing for a moment, he listened to the rapid crackle of automatic gunfire and explosions that were still coming from inside the house, before getting back to his feet. Leaning inside the nearest vehicle he brought out a cell jammer which had been hidden under the passenger seat and switched it off. Then reaching into his pants pocket he got out his phone and followed Fiona's final instructions.

With the call made, Clemen's waited with baited breath when he realized silence had descended on the beach house. Cocking his head to one side he continued to wait expecting to hear another round of gunfire or at least few more explosions. But there was nothing. Hesitantly he gathered everything together and carried it all towards the garage. Stopping every now again to listen for a resumption of hostilities.

After making sure the box and laptop were well hidden, his confidence began to grow enough to risk creeping towards the utility room. He froze as he heard:

"Do you think this _woman_ is going to get me to talk? I'm a specialist, there is nothing... aaargghhh."

Followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor, and the scrape of heels jerking back and forth on the floor.

"Talk or scream it's all the same to me. But in the end you're going to tell me exactly what you've done to Michael." Came Fiona's angry response.

Clemens breathed a sigh of relief, the intruders had obviously been no match for Fiona Glenanne and Sam Axe.

Peering around the edge of the rubble covered hole he was in time to witness the man who must have been Markov being dragged roughly into one of the other bedrooms, by a furious looking Fiona Glenanne.

Satisfied all was clear he very carefully freed the tripwire on the remaining grenade, and then placed the can grenade back in the box with the remaining two. Before heading back in to the house.

"Hey dude I'm one of the friendlies." He held his hands up as Sam Axe pointed a gun at him.

"I'm glad you're back, Mikey's in the bathroom he didn't look too good when I had to leave him."

Clemens eyed Sam's leg dripping blood. "It looks like you could do with a bit of doctoring too."

"Yeah but see to Mike first." Sam leaned heavily against the wall, doing his best to conserve his remaining strength.

In the bathroom Clemens found Michael laying on his side cocooned in a duvet, his body no longer shaking, just still. His complexion greying and taking on a mottled appearance.

"Jeez!" Billy rushed across the room sliding on the floor as he came to a stop next to Michael's body. Dragging the duvet away, he roughly pulled Michael on to his back and searched for a pulse. It was there faint and thready, now he was closer Clemens could also see and hear Michael's labored breaths coming in fast shallow puffs. Gulping when he recognized the harsh low rattle coming from Michael's chest. Clemens got back to his feet dashing for the door.

"I need help in here." He gasped.

Sam took one look at Clemens panicked expression and bellowed loudly. "FIONA GET OUT HERE!" He turned back to Clemens. But the medic had already disappeared back into the bathroom.

Back at Michael's side Clemens checked him over again. Pulling back an eyelid to find Michael's eye had rolled back in the socket. Moving quickly he grabbed up a pile of towels placing them under his patients legs trying to keep what blood was still flowing heading towards a struggling heart.

"What's happened? Sam said," Fiona came through the door at a run and skidded to a stop her hand going to her mouth. "Oh God, I should've checked... I should have.. I was gettin'-" she stood frozen to the spot watching Clemens through wide eyes.

"It doesn't matter. I need you to keep a close watch on him, try talking to him, let him know he's not alone. While I go grab some medical supplies. There was a whole load of them inside one of the SUVs." Clemens was back on his feet.

He knew it was taking a risk but he couldn't hang around trying to explain things any longer, he grabbed Fiona by the arm and as good as threw her down beside her boyfriend.

"Stay with him," Clemens ordered before dashing out of the room. Pushing by Sam and ignoring his demands for information in his rush.

**()()**

When she had burst into the bathroom Fiona's heart had nearly stopped, Michael looked dead his complexion mottled grey and blue only the harsh forced breaths giving her any hope. Now she sat next to him with tears filling her eyes. Holding his hand she tried to squeeze some of her life into him, stroking her other hand tenderly over his cheek, and across his forehead she tried to let him know he wasn't alone.

"I'm sorry I should have listened to Billy he warned me this could happen. I'm sorry," she sniffed. "Please Michael fight this, for me please. You can't leave me here with Sam." She laid her head on his chest listening to the faint rapid beats of his struggling heart. "This is my fault. He tried to tell me. But I was worried if I sent you away just with him he wouldn't be able to protect you." She couldn't help the tears that were now leaking freely from the corners of her eyes.

Desolation was creeping into her soul as she watched Michael fight to stay alive, his eyes were open now, her voice being enough to bring him back enough to try and focus on the voice he could hear.

"Fi," he whispered. "Ah can't see you." There was a hint of panic in his strained voice.

"Sshh, save your strength, Billy has gone to get some supplies to fix you up. Just stay with me." She stared down into his eyes, and was scared at the changes taking place, the normally clear blue was taking on a glassy appearance.

"Wha's hap-happenin'?"

"I don't know, lay still and stop talking. Save your strength." She ordered trying to bring her own emotions under control.

Hearing a faint scuffling she turned towards the bathroom door with hope in her eyes, Clemens was taking too long. The hope was dashed, as Sam came into view, hobbling painfully.

"Jeez Fi how is he? I swear he wasn't this bad when I left him." Sam looked down his face registering deep concern at what he was seeing.

"Billy went to get medical supplies from Markov's car. What about his men?" Fiona sniffed, hoping talking would help her cope with what was happening.

"They're all tied up Fi, how about Markov? He still alive?"

"For now." She turned back to Michael, his eyes had closed again his breathing if anything sounding more labored. "Sam...?"

"Billy's coming Fi, I can hear him coming through the utility. Just a couple of minutes." Sam reassured, trying to hobble closer, but not wanting to be in the way.

True to Sam's word Billy Clemens staggered in with a large metal case and a cylinder of oxygen. Quickly he dropped down beside his patient and fixed a mask over Michaels mouth and nose dialling up the oxygen to as high a level as he thought safe.

"I'm going to give him something to give his circulation a kick start." He was filling a syringe, from a bottle he had taken from the case. Once he had administered the drug, he hurriedly moved on setting up a IV stand and pulling out a bag of fluid. "Here hang this on the stand and then help me get this line in him."

Fumbling Fiona got the folding pole to stand up and she hung the bag of fluid up, dropping back down she noticed Clemens was cleaning up Michael's foot and leg.

"Ok I'm going to have to put a line into him and the only place left is in his foot. It's gonna hurt and it's going to be a pain in the ass to keep in place." He gave her a brief look, before turning his attention to finding a suitable site to place the catheter.

When he got the line in and started fluids into his patient Clemens was rewarded by a faint moan. He reached for a bandage and wrapped the whole of Michael's foot and ankle with the bandage. "It should help keep it in place." He told her, before turning his head so he could see both Sam and Fiona. "He's in shock, and he is a long way from getting better." He gave them the bad news. "He needs fluids, and plenty of undisturbed rest."

Sam nodded, getting carefully to his feet, wincing at the pain it caused. "Ok Doc, help me down beside him I'll watch him while you two go deal with everything else."

Fiona looked like she was going to refuse to leave Michael's side. She stared from one man to the other. "I should stay here," she laid a hand gently on Michael's head, feeling the cold damp hair. She looked back at them. " He needs me."

"Yeah he does Fi, he needs you to get the answers out Markov." Sam answered her.

Clemens looked from one to the other not believing what he was hearing. "Are you two crazy?" He demanded. "Your friend is dying..." The blow he took to the side of his jaw nearly knocked him off his feet.

Fiona was on her feet her face inches off the medic's. "_No he isn't._" She snarled poking him in the chest with a hard rigid finger. "Don't you say that. _Ever._"

Sam came up behind her and gently took hold of her upper arms. "Fi, we still need him." He spoke softly.

"He's wrong. Michael isn't dying." She hissed, her eyes fixed on Clemens. "We won't let it happen."

"No we won't." Sam agreed. He then turned his eyes on the doctor. "We need answers off Markov, and I'm guessing it would help you to if you knew what has been done to Mike. Am I right?"

Clemens nodded, rubbing the sore point on his chest.

"Good, we're agreed then. Fi you go and talk to Markov. Billy you're going to restitch my leg and go through what I have to watch for with Mikey." He dropped his hands from Fiona's arms grateful she hadn't elbowed him the guts. "Fi?" He questioned when she didn't move.

Her thin shoulder's lifted and then dropped, with a sigh she looked down at Michael's unconscious body. Her eyes fixed with fascination on the rise and fall of his chest.

"Is Jojo coming?" She asked, rubbing at her temples trying to clear her head.

"He said he'll get here as soon as he can, he's about an hour away. Fiona where are you going to go? Michael is too sick for a long boat ride." Clemens asked.

"You said it before he needs tests and scans. I'm taking him across to Mexico. I can get him in to a clinic under a false name."

Clemens looked like he was going to say something and then thought better of it. The two men watched as Fiona knelt to kiss Michael's forehead before she got back to her feet. As she stepped out of the bathroom she gave then one final look which could only be described as a death glare.

"Keep him alive." She muttered through thin tight lips, her eyes glittering with anger. "I'll be back soon." As she left the room, she stiffened her shoulder's and walked back into the smaller of the bedrooms where she had left Markov.

"Oh boy," Sam huffed as he sat on the edge of the bath. "I'm sure glad to be in here, it's gonna get ugly out there."

Clemens was staring after the departing figure. "Shouldn't we, er you know try to stop her?"

Sam started unwrapping the bandage from his thigh. "No, I think we're all banged enough as it is." A sudden loud thud followed by a deep groan made both men pause. "O-kay doc come on let's get me stitched back up."

**()()**

Markov had heard Sam Axe shout out for help and had instantly guessed what had happened. He might have lost, but so had they, their friend was undoubtedly dying. Westen had been out of the game for nearly three years his usefulness to Moscow was limited to solving old mysteries and settling a few old scores. His bosses did not want the bother of transporting a burned spy out of his home country. They wanted answers, and then the body disposed of with the minimum of fuss.

He had taken the opportunity to try out some of his more experimental interrogation techniques. Westen had been quite stubborn for which he had been very grateful. As his resistance had all added to his research.

Then of course there was his benefactor. A man who had approached him through a friend at the Russian trade delegation. A man who had a few questions of his own for Michael Westen and was willing to pay quite handsomely to get the answers he needed.

While he waited for one of his captors to return, he managed to get himself sat up with his back against a wall. It seemed to be only a few minutes later that the bedroom door swung open, and he found himself staring into murderous blue-green eyes.

"So he's finally dead?" Markov asked callously, taking in Fiona's tear streaked appearance.

Markov's head rocked back as without uttering a word Fiona closed the distance and spun around delivering a powerful reverse roundhouse kick to the side of her prisoner's head. But she wasn't finished bending down she curled her fingers into his grubby shirt and yanked him forward delivering a head butt right between his eyes.

Standing back Fiona took a couple of deep breath, her chest heaving with the effort she had put in to her attack. Wiping her hand across her forehead she looked down at her dazed prisoner. At least she had managed to wipe the smile off his face.

"You are going to tell me what you've done to him." She growled out the words.

Shaking his head, as he tried to remain conscious and clear his brain from the pounding he had just taken he looked up at her. "Let me guess, he has collapsed, or maybe had a heart attack?" He taunted her through blood stained lips.

She picked up the taser and retracted the coils, placing the electrodes into the slots which would fire them back out. "Would you like to join him." She smiled, her eyes lighting with a hint of insanity, she held the device up to her face. "I wonder how many jolts you can take from this little thing before your eyes melt?" She kissed the end of the taser a dreamy expression on her face as she teased him.

Moving to his side she placed the end under his chin. "You know as a _very_ active member of a terrorist organization I saw torture applied to many of our enemies." She whispered into his ear and then moved to stand in front of him a pout forming on her lips. "But they would never let me play."

"I have read your file, I don't believe Aaaaarrrgghhh!" He howled as she fired it in to his chest.

"Believe me now?" She continued to smile.

**()()**

"Aaaaarrrgghhh!"

Clemens looked up from where he was finishing off restitching Sam's leg. "She's going to kill him isn't she?" He asked.

"Fi is very protective of her friends." Sam commented wincing as another scream came through the wall. He brushed Clemens hand away as he finished dressing the wound, and got slowly to his feet. "But sometimes her passions can get the better of her."

"You can't walk on that leg, you'll burst the stitches."

"Yeah? O-kay then you go stop Fi from torturing the guy next door to death."

Clemens paled at the thought. "No, that's fine. You go. Just, you know be careful."

Sam paused his eyes looking at the case of medical supplies. "Hey, can you mix me up something that looks nasty?"

"What do you mean?" Clemens asked suspiciously.

"The guy is a doctor of some sort. If I wanted to convince him to talk, what do you think would do it. What stuff will have Markov peeing his pants?"

"I..." Clemens winced as another howl sounded through the wall. "Warfarin." He blurted. "I don't think there's any in the case, but if he was dosed with rat poison." He held up his hand. "No enough! This is getting totally out of hand." He looked down at his patient. "I'll stay until you get him to Mexico and then I expect a big pay day and to be left alone."

Sam patted the medic on the shoulder. "Rat poison? I can work with that. Thanks doc."

**()()**

Fiona spun around as the bedroom door opened. "Sam." She couldn't hide the fear in her voice. There was only one reason he would be coming into the room. "Is, is he?" She couldn't say it.

"No, he's the same. I came to give you a hand." Sam held up a syringe filled with a cloudy liquid, small granules floated in the mixture. "I got a couple of ideas off _our_ doctor."

"Sam?" Fiona followed Sam's painfully slow walk to where Markov lay, very much worse for wear.

"He suggested if we gave our guest some rat poison. Well actually a _great_ _big_ massive dose of rat poison it would make the interrogation go a bit faster."

"Billy suggested...?" Fiona looked confused, whereas Markov looked sick.

"Yes Fi, the noise of all the zapping was upsetting the poor guy and he thought you might like to speed things up." Sam was at Markov's side now smiling down at him. "Say Fi would you like to do the honors?"

Finally she caught on and took the syringe out of Sam's hand. "Tell me," she held the struggling man still. "Do you think all these little bits that haven't dissolved will cause a problem?"

Sam chuckled, his shoulder's shaking with mirth. "Oh I don't think it'll matter, he's going to die a horribly painful death anyway."

"You're crazy!" Markov gasped and tried to pull away.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you silly." Fiona pulled up the remains of the Russian's shirt sleeve. "Now hold still."

"No, no stop." Markov tried to move away.

"Are you going to be a good boy, and talk?"

He nodded, and then gulped. "Yes." He answered.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Daily injections of hallucinatory drugs, while being kept in a sensory deprivation tank... Starvation... Withholding fluids for days at a time... Inducing seizures severe enough to send the subject into a coma... The use of highly addictive experimental drugs to keep the subject docile and prevent more seizures and heart failure as the interrogation sessions began_...

Fiona's face was frozen in anger, a desire for bloody vengeance burned through her small frame as she listened to Markov detail his interrogation techniques. She knew deep down she should set aside her own feelings of pure hatred until they got the information they needed.

_He was very close to a total psychotic break and then I would have..._

Finally she could take no more.

_"Aaaarrggghhh!_... You crazy bitch, I'm answering your questions!" Markov howled.

A stamping strike by a small but heavy boot to Markov's knee cap, had driven the bone out of place and left him writhing in agony on the floor.

For ten minutes Fiona had listened to Markov explain his interrogation techniques, before finally snapping. Bile had risen in her throat as he spoke of Michael as if he was nothing more than a favorite lab rat. His gloating voice filled with pride made her realize exactly how much he had enjoyed tormenting Michael and she had had enough.

The pop and crunch of a kneecap being driven out of joint had not soothed away her utter disgust, and she moved forward to continue her attack.

"O—kay crazy lady," Sam drawled putting himself between Fiona and the source of her hatred. "Why don't you go check on Mikey while I talk with the sadistic bastard."

"Have you been listening to what he's been saying?" She spat the words out, preparing to knock Sam out of the way. "What he did... He deserves to..." The words spluttering out of her mouth while she reached into her waistband and drew her Walther.

"FI-O-NA." Sam talked over her, "step outside with me for one minute...Please."

She didn't move, the safety was off and her finger was inside the trigger guard, narrowed eyes focussed on the sorry excuse for a man curled up on the floor. In her mind she was already picturing a neat little hole in between Markov's eyes.

"Just step outside, for thirty seconds. If you want, you can come back in afterwards and shoot him a couple of times." Sam took a limping step towards the bedroom door.

With an angry huff she followed him out of the room. "What is it Sam? You can't possibly want to listen to what that animal has to say."

He took a deep breath, part of him agreed with Fiona and wanted to put a bullet straight through Markov's head. But they needed answers, and the only way they were going to get them was to push personal feelings aside and remain calm.

"Fiona, I think you should go help Billy with Michael."

"I was fine in there Sam." She replied coldly.

"No, you were about to kill him. I've got this covered, and I really think one of us should be with Mikey don't you?" He added, offering her a way out. Killing Markov might make her feel better but it wouldn't help Michael and if she insisted on staying in the room the skinny little man was not going to last another five minutes.

"Sam," she smiled, trying to convince him to see things her way.

"Oh no you don't," he recognized that smile, he had seen her use it to get her own way before. "You heard him Fi, he's been drugging Mike with some experimental crap. We need to know as much about what he has done as possible and he can't tell us if he isn't breathing."

She tried to think of a reason for just shooting Markov, but Sam was right they needed answers. Taking a deep breath she made her gun safe and put it away. "Fine, but once we have the answers I get to shoot him."

"Sure." Sam agreed offering up a tired smile. "Make it a head shot though I doubt the soulless bastard has a heart. Now go see how Mike is doing and maybe check on your friend with the boat."

Fiona nodded and turned towards the main bedroom, truthfully she had never wanted to go back into the room with Markov. Especially now, she belonged at Michael's side. Stepping into the en suite she nodded at Billy Clemens who was busy packing up supplies for the transfer on to Jojo's boat.

"Can I...? Is it alright?" Fiona paused unsure what to do.

"To sit with him? Sure but try not to disturb him, he needs complete rest." Clemen's replied.

With a sigh she sank down at Michael's side, tentatively enclosing one of his lifeless hands in between hers. He was so still, his skin ghostly pale, his lips and the skin around his eyelids bluish grey. As she sat there repeating the half forgotten prayers learned in her childhood, she noticed that while she had been listening to Markov's sickening confession Billy Clemens had been busy.

As well as oxygen support and the IV, Michael had a Oxygen meter attached to his index finger monitoring his pulse and oxygen levels, a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm and sitting nearby in a large carry case a portable resuscitation kit was prepared for use.

The flashing digital displays on the various pieces of equipment held her attention, his heart was beating too fast, his oxygen levels even with support were too low. Blood pressure barely registered each time the cuff on his arm tightened in response to a timer. However much she wanted to tear her eyes away she couldn't do it. The numbers flashing away a constant reminder that his condition was her fault.

Clemens had wanted to leave, had wanted Michael safely away from the noise and stress of an armed assault. But she had been too stubborn, and this was what her stubbornness had caused. Sniffing loudly, Fiona forced herself to concentrate on his face instead of the monitors. But the bright digital displays kept up their silent accusation and however much she wanted to look away she couldn't.

"He's a little better."

Fiona looked up at hearing Billy Clemens voice. The medic appeared as worn out as Sam looked and she felt. "Trying to make me feel better Billy?" She tried to raise a smile but failed miserably.

"His blood pressure has risen slightly, and his O2 levels are slowly coming up. All good signs."

"And his heart?" She stared at the pulse display. One hundred and thirty beats per minute, the digits flashed.

"He's still very sick and it's early days. Give it time."

She could see the medic wanted to say something but wasn't sure how she was going to take it. "Spit it out Billy. What's on your mind?"

"You shouldn't move him. Not until he's stable."

"We can't stay here," she began to explain but came to a stop; Was she doing it again? Putting Michael in danger because her instincts told her they had to be on the move. She closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath. "If we stay here sooner or later we'll be trapped. There's only one way in and out by land. Markov could be stalling us. Somebody might have reported all the noise, the police could turn up. Jojo knows what he is doing, leaving by boat is the best option."

Billy looked like he was going to argue some more but then thought better of it and instead nodded his head accepting her decision. "There's a radio in the garage, I'll go check the weather station. If it's calm I think he'll cope...But.."

"Go check it out, if there's another storm coming in we'll change our plans." If necessary she would get Jojo to take the Russians out to sea and throw them off the side somewhere in between Key West and Cuba. But whatever happened Michael wasn't spending any more time than absolutely necessary in the same building as Markov.

With Billy going to check on the weather conditions out in the Gulf of Mexico she was finally alone with Michael. Keeping hold of his hand, with one of her own she raised the other to wipe away a stray tear. The sound of his gasping breaths sounded loud to her ears, reminding her of the risk she was taking attempting to move him somewhere safer. If anything went wrong she would have to take responsibility for what happened.

She gently traced the outline of his jaw her fingertips barely brushing against the heavy stubble on his cheeks. _If anything happened...If he..._

"mmm..."

She paused, unsure where the sound had come from.

"mmm,"

Her heart jumped, skipping a beat as she realized Michael's lips were moving. Then she felt a very light pressure as his fingers curled slightly in her hand. She looked about wildly, unsure what to do. Billy had said he was to be kept quiet and undisturbed. But if he was waking up shouldn't she reassure him? But would speaking to him encourage him to try to talk and move? Would she make things worse? But if she kept quiet he might think he was alone, he might be frightened or confused.

All her jumbled thoughts scattered when she realized he was watching her, his eyes open barely a crack but it was enough . She leaned down, smiling at him her palm gently cupping his cheek. "Hey." She spoke softly praying she was doing the right thing.

His eyes opened further, and her heart leapt as he stared back at her through clear blue eyes. She waited silently urging him to speak, to show some sign of recognition. The corner of his mouth curved slightly into a crooked smile before his eyes slid shut again and he was still.

Fiona waited, her heart pounding in her chest, tears misting her eyes. Relief flooded through her body causing a sob to break free. This was a sign, he was fighting back, he wasn't going to slip quietly away. Taking a couple of deep gasping breaths she turned to check the readouts.

Everything was the same as before. She turned her gaze back, hoping to see him staring up at her again but he was asleep.

Taking a couple of gulping breaths she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around legs pulling them in tight. _He was improving, he had looked at her and smiled._ She was grinning like a maniac with tears streaming down her face when Billy appeared at the bathroom door.

"Jojo is..." Billy paused taking in Fiona's tears, he snapped his head towards Michael expecting to see rows of flat lines instead he saw a steady improvement. "Fiona?" He questioned.

"He woke up." She told him. "Just for a couple of seconds. But he smiled." She took hold of Michael's hand again giving him a light squeeze, hiding her disappointment when he didn't return the pressure. "You were saying?"

"Er, yeah. Jojo is going to be here in fifteen. The Gulf is gonna be calm at least for the rest of today. He's gonna tie up at the neighbours dock. So we need to get him ready to move." He was already kneeling down beside her, doing his own checks on Michael's condition.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked.

"When the time comes we'll have to slide him onto a board." He pointed to the corner of the room where there was a stretcher, waiting to be used. "And then we'll have to move him very very carefully on to the boat. But until then you stay with him while I get everything ready to go." He finished his checks and got back to his feet. "If he wakes up again, do nothing to excite him. He's better of asleep."

**()()**

Sam had waited until Fiona disappeared into the main bedroom, then slumped against the wall. Once Markov had agreed to talk there had been no shutting the man up. He had been happy to outline his barbaric experiments and had gloated over the results he had achieved. Over his many years Sam had never come across anybody who turned his stomach as much as Viktor Markov.

The thought of going back into the room with him was almost more than Sam could bare. Taking a deep breath he stood up straight and steeled himself before stepping back inside the small bedroom.

Markov was laying where they had left him, his lower leg bent at an unnatural angle already swollen up so badly the seams of his pants were stretching to the point of bursting. Whimpering he turned towards door, the look of fear dimming in his eyes when he saw Sam was alone.

Doing his best to hide his revulsion, Sam grabbed a chair and placed it next to Markov's prone body. Before sitting down he reached into his pants pocket and produced the tracker that Fiona had pulled off the Saab.

"Ok fella, where did you get this from?" He needed a break from talking about Michael or he was going to end up saving Fiona the trouble and shoot Markov himself. "Or have the FSB started spending money on high end surveillance equipment now?"

Markov looked at the tiny circuit board through tear filled eyes, but remained mute.

"Don't get shy now Markov, I can always call Fiona back in if you don't want to talk to me."

"It is not mine," he answered quickly.

Sam could see he was hiding something, so he continued to quietly stare the man down.

"Westen has a lot of enemies." Markov added. "One of them approached me, he wanted me to ask some questions for him."

"What man, give me a name?"

Markov shook his head. "It was all done with a cut out. A man handed me an envelope filled with cash. There was a phone number. We never met face to face. I called the number and he asked me how much it would cost for me to ask Westen some questions for him."

"So he knew you had kidnapped Michael? But you didn't know who he was and you didn't report the security breach to your own people?"

"It was a lot of money."

Sam closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. "What questions? What were the questions you had to ask?"

"He was going to send me more money with the questions, and then a final payment when I had the answers. But you stole Westen back."

"And this?" Sam waved the tracker. "Where did this come from?"

"I called him, after your assault. The police had arrived and the FBI. My own people wanted to send me back home they were willing to lose Westen. I was not. I called the number and he cleared the police and FBI and gave me surveillance equipment. He said he could protect me."

Sam remembered what his buddy Connie had said about somebody high up in the Economic Trade Commission stopping the police investigation. He felt cold fingers of dread creep through his body, if Michael got out of this alive there was obviously somebody else very powerful out there coming after him.

Sam's lips thinned out, and his expression hardened glancing at his watch he realized the hour was nearly up Fiona's friend with the boat would be arriving soon. Whoever had supplied Markov with the tracker was gone at least for now. He slipped the device back into his pocket if they got away safely he would look in to it further. Once Michael was safe.

Thinking about Michael brought him back to asking the questions he dreaded. He needed to find out about the experimental drugs and how to get Michael safely free of their effects. He looked at the pathetic little man cowering on the floor.

"So how do we get Mike back?"


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Fifteen**

"You have to understand the medication we used. It is experimental, highly addictive. We did not research how to control withdrawal, why would we? Once we have our answers," Markov shrugged. "They're just prisoners."

Ignoring the pain shooting through his leg, Sam leaned forward and grabbed the front of Markov's shirt. "Are you telling me Mikey's gonna die?"

Markov shrank back at the anger he saw on the other man's face. "No! No, you can put him back on the drug and maybe, if you reduce the dose very slowly, he can be weaned off the chemicals."

A crafty smile curved his lips. "I could help you.- You will need me to administer the treatment."

Sam brought his gun up pressing the end of the barrel to Markov's temple, his hand shaking with barely suppressed rage. He thumbed the hammer back, fully intending to blow the interrogator's head off and then suddenly he came to a stop. Letting go of a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, Sam stepped back and made his gun safe.

He had never felt such fury towards another human being in his life. But he wasn't going to let it turn him into a cold blooded killer.

Shaking his head trying to clear away the fog of anger that was clouding his thoughts, Sam finally managed to gain enough control of his emotions to look Markov in the eye.

"Do you honestly think we would let you get anywhere near Mike again? You must be crazy," he turned away, his hand closing around the door knob.

"And you're stubbornness will kill your friend. I guarantee he will die without my help!" Markov shouted back

Sam walked out of the room without a backward glance, slamming the door shut behind him. Standing in the hallway, he leaned back against the wall and tried to catch his breath. His hands were still shaking with suppressed rage.

'_Thank god Fi wasn't in there with me.' _Sam raised his eyes to look up at the ceiling. '_We'd be cleaning bits of the sick bastard off the walls._'

With a weary sigh he stood up straight. There was no time to stand around. Fiona's friend would be arriving soon and before they left there was a lot of things to do.

**()()**

After checking that Markov's two remaining men were still securely tied up, Sam went into the main bedroom and through to the en-suite. He paused in the doorway peering around the small room.

Surrounded by a variety of monitors, Billy Clemens was hunched over Michael holding a stethoscope to his chest. Sam moved a little further inside when he realized somebody was missing.

"Er, doc, where's Fi gone?"

Clemens held a hand up silently asking him to keep quiet, as he continued to listen to Michael's chest and abdomen.

Frowning with impatience, Sam turned his attention to the monitors and the flashing digital readouts. "_You're stubbornness will kill your friend. I guarantee he will die without my help!" _Markov's reedy whiny voice sounded in his head as he read the figures displayed on the monitors. Michael was seriously ill and all they had to help him was a washed up army doctor.

Finally Clemens finished what he was doing and, after he had covered Michael back over with the duvet, he got to his feet and gestured for Sam to move back into the bedroom before he spoke.

"Sorry, but I want Michael to have complete peace and quiet until we have to move him. Jojo called to say they'd arrived, so Fiona went to clear away the last of her 'little surprises'."

"How's he doing?" Sam asked, nodding towards where Michael lay.

"He's holding on. Fiona said he woke up for a moment. But.." Clemens shrugged.

"But you're not so sure," Sam finished for him.

"No." Clemens shook his head, but then gave Sam a closer look as he read his troubled expression. "What's up?"

Sam slumped down onto the bed, combing his fingers through his hair. He couldn't believe he was actually considering Markov's offer. Fiona would kill him if he even suggested letting Michael's tormentor anywhere near him. But seeing his best friend laying helpless and listening to him struggle to breathe, he was beginning to think it might be Michael's only chance of survival.

Taking a deep breath Sam began to speak, "I've been questioning Markov about what he did to Mike and the drugs he used. He says the only way Mike will recover is to put him back on the drugs. He says what he used was experimental. It wasn't given with the idea of the subject living long after the interrogation was over."

"Jeeze," Clemens looked up at the ceiling and then dropped his head to stare at his feet. "What are you going to do?"

"That's the problem. I don't know. The thought of letting that bastard anywhere near Mikey… Fi'll kill me for even thinking about it. Do you think Mike can pull through this?"

Clemens let out a sigh before looking up from his study of his feet.

"Sam, I was an Army surgeon like twenty years ago. Nowadays I patch up gun runners and smugglers. This here what I'm doing now is about the limit of my medical skills. I can't tell you what to do."

Sam nodded. He had expected as much. Getting to his feet, he wandered back to the en-suite to watch Michael's still form. "Is he in pain?"

Clemens joined him in the doorway. "I don't think so. I'm giving him pain relief and he is pretty much out of it anyway."

"If we can get him to Mexico, do you think they'll be able to help him?"

"_If_ he survives the journey... Maybe... I mean he's pretty sick and it's gonna take at least a coupla days to get there."

"Yeah, thanks for all the reassurance there, doc. What I want to know is do you think Mikey can survive this without Markov's help?"

"I think the worst thing you could do to your friend is put him back on whatever did this to him. At the moment, he's reasonably stable. I don't know for sure, but I'd guess we'll know in the next day or so if he's going to pull through."

Sam nodded grateful that the medic agreed with what he had been thinking. Besides, he didn't fancy the idea of telling Fi they were going to have to let Markov near Michael.

**()()**

After Fiona had cleared away the remains of the C4 she had placed in the door locks and various other places, she made her way across the garden and out onto the path that led to Veronica's neighbors dock. She came to a stop staring with disbelief as Jojo Delaney finished tying up an inflatable boat.

"What the hell?" She started forward, anger flaring on her face. "Didn't Billy tell you we have an injured man? He..."

Jojo skillfully avoided the punch aimed at his jaw and grabbed hold of Fiona by the shoulders turning her to look out to sea. "Hey! Little firecracker! Look."

He let go with one hand and pointed to a large yacht anchored about two hundred yards away. "I can't bring Josephine in any closer. But if you want to get to Mexico, you're not going to get a smoother ride than her."

Fiona twisted out of his grip, some of the anger leaving her body. She eyed the boat knowing full well that Billy Clemens was going to throw a fit at Michael's transportation to the waiting yacht.

"Honest, Fi, it'll be fine. I've used this baby to transport high explosives. Besides it's like a pond out there today." He wrapped a muscular arm around her shoulders a wide reassuring smile nearly split his face in two.

A sharp bony elbow into the man's side and Fiona managed a small smile of her own as Jojo grunted in pain. "Michael isn't a box of Nitro," she snapped.

"I'm sure he's not, but trust me it's the safest way to get him out to Josey unless you've changed your mind and want to take him overland."

"No, it has to be by sea." She turned again to eye the small craft and the three men Jojo had with him.

"While we get Michael ready, I've got some boxes and a few guns that need to come with us. Can your boys take it all out to your... Josephine?"

"Not a problem. C'mon now, cheer up, girl."

"I swear Jojo you damage Michael in that _dinghy_, I'll blow that damn Josephine of yours out of the water."

As they began to walk back to the house, Jojo's arm was still draped over Fiona's shoulder.

"Anyone ever tell you you worry too much?" he asked.

"Nobody who wants to live," she replied with a grin. She felt herself beginning to relax. In another hour, they would be far away from Key West and Viktor Markov.

Fiona led the way into the garage so that two of Jojo's men could pick up the box of files and the weapons and explosives she had gathered up.

"I don't suppose there's anybody on your crew who can read Russian?" she asked hopefully, staring at the box one of the men held.

"Sorry Fi. Hey, I know a guy in Cuba, used ta work as a translator. If ya want, we can go see him. Cuba's a lot closer than Mexico. It might be safer for your boy, too."

Fiona pursed her lips and then shook her head. "No, taking Michael to Cuba, would be - Well, let's just say it's better if we keep him away from countries with strong connections to Russia."

"Not a problem. Boys get that stuff over to Josey and then get back here."

This was one of the things Fiona loved about Jojo, he never pushed for answers. "Come, I'll introduce you to Michael."

Climbing over the debris that still filled the entrance to the utility room, Fiona led the way into the beach house and towards the main bedroom. As she opened the door, Sam came limping out of the en-suite.

"Fi?" Sam was looking past her at the two men following on her heels.

"Sam, this is Jojo Delaney, and - ?" She realized she had no idea who the crewman Jojo had brought along was or his name.

"Luca," Jojo filled the gap, stepping forward to shake Sam's hand. "Pleased ta meet you, Sam. You all ready to move out?"

"We've got Mike on the stretcher; Billy is just checking him over." Sam ducked his head down, not wanting to give away his worries about what they were about to do.

Unfortunately, Fiona could read his expression as easily as she could read Michael's.

"What's happened?" she demanded as she pushed her way past Sam to find out what had him so worried for herself.

She stared down at Michael who was still wrapped in the duvet, but was now lying strapped onto a stretcher. She listened to his breathing which seemed worse than when she had left him.

"How is he? Sam said he was... Why has his breathing changed?"

Billy Clemens looked up at her from where he was finishing up packing away his medical equipment. "It's because we moved him. He should settle back down soon."

"And if he doesn't?" She dropped down beside the stretcher, gently cupping Michael's cheek.

"We won't be able to move him," Clemens answered flatly.

"He'll be fine. He's a fighter. We'll just wait for him to calm down."

Clemens wasn't sure if Fiona was trying to convince herself or him.

They had an uneasy wait for half an hour until Clemens announced Michael's breathing had slowed enough to risk the move. Then with all the medical equipment packed away, they set off to the neighbors dock.

Jojo and Lucas took the stretcher between them, with Fiona and Clemens on either side. Sam followed behind, pulling Clemens wheeled suitcase. By the time they reached the dock, he was limping heavily and his cracked ribs throbbed from the effort it took to walk. Slumping down on a wooden bench, he listened to the heated exchange taking place at the edge of the dock.

"You want to take him on that?" Clemens complained loudly.

Sam stared at the Zodiac inflatable sitting nestled against the dock. He could see the man's point. He turned to look out to sea and spotted a large yacht anchored nearby. Now that was more like it.

"Josephine is out there." Jojo was pointing out the large yacht to the angry medic. "I can't bring her in any closer. Relax, Billy it's completely still out there."

Clemens looked from the Zodiac to the yacht and then turned to look at Fiona. "Are you happy about this?"

"There's no other way," she pointed out from her position at Michael's side.

Clemens huffed and paced and forth, before he dropped down next to Michael and checked his stats yet again. "Fine," he finally conceded. "But take it easy."

Sam noticed how they were all watching with baited breath as Jojo and his men loaded the stretcher on board the Zodiac. Once they had the stretcher secured, Billy stepped on board and instantly set about checking his patient.

"How is he?" Fiona stood on the edge of the dock, biting on her knuckles.

"Unchanged," Clemens answered. "We should go."

The rest of them watched as the boat moved away slowly from the dock.

"Fiona, he'll be fine," Jojo tried to reassure the woman whose eyes were fixed on the little crafts slow progress.

She sniffed, before turning around to face the men

"Here." She held out her car keys to Luca. "Leave it next to the Warehouse nightclub. Do you know where it is?"

"Sure," he took the keys from her and turned away. "See ya next week, boss."

Sam watched him walk away. "Fi?" he queried.

"You think I'm going to leave my car here to be picked up by the cops?"

"Well, you've not exactly got a pink slip and it is kinda trashed."

"Yes and when we get back, _you_ get to fix all the damage you did to it," she smirked at him before turning her attention back to watching Michael's journey to the yacht.

**()()**

Clemens was on edge during the whole journey over to Jojo's yacht. He knew how fast a person in Michael Westen's condition could go downhill. Each time the boat hit a tiny wave, he tensed and his eyes fixed on the oxygen monitor attached to Michael's finger. He watched worriedly when Michael's pulse rate began to jump up even higher.

"Keep this thing steady," he growled at the two crewmen.

As they pulled alongside the yacht, the two boats banged against each other and Michael's eyes flew open, his breathing speeding up as he turned his head from side to side.

"Michael, hey Mike, it's gonna be alright," Clemens tried to soothe his patient, but he could see his words were having no effect.

"N - n maw... N' maw"

The medic could barely make out the slurred words as Michael's eyes closed.

"Michael, it's Clemens. Fiona's friend. Do you remember me?" He tried to get through to him again but could tell nothing he said was going to help.

He turned to the crew tying the two crafts together. "Let's get him on board quickly," Clemens ordered, realizing speed was of essence as Michael began to hyperventilate.

**()()**

_Pain tore through his body, dragging him out of the peaceful and comforting darkness. He tried to curl into a ball to protect himself from whoever or whatever was attacking him. It was at that moment he realized he was strapped down and his heart constricted as he remembered the hospital. He had to be back in the hospital. _

_Desperate to see if he was right, Michael forced his eyes open and was instantly blinded by a bright light. Blinded and unable to move, panic set in as more pain constricted his chest as he fought to take gulping breaths. Something was covering his nose and mouth. He shook his head from side to side trying to rid himself of what he thought must be a gag._

"_Michael, hey Mike." _

_Muffled sounds came to Michael's ears but the words were lost in the loud whooshing noise that echoed through his head. "No, no more," he gasped. "No more."_

"_Michael, it's Clemens. Fiona's friend. Do you remember me?" _

"_No, no, no," _

_A figure blocked out the light, but all he could see was shadows. He was being pulled back into the darkness. They had lied to him. Fiona was in Britain locked away, Sam wasn't his friend. Breathing was becoming more difficult, Doctor Vincent must be punishing him. He had done it before when he wouldn't answer his questions._

**()()**

Clemens was filled with apprehension as Jojo's crew raised the stretcher up on to the yacht. Once he had climbed up the metal ladder onto the deck, Clemens hurriedly followed the crewmen carrying Michael into a large stateroom.

"Just place the stretcher on the bed. We'll move him once he is stable."

Clemens released the straps holding Michael in place and pulled the duvet back.

"Get me your medical kit. I need any IV saline you have, monitoring equipment and if you have it, oxygen cylinders." He was already turning up the level of oxygen support as Michael's lips were beginning to turn blue.

"I warned them there was a risk," he muttered as he fixed the ear pieces of his stethoscope in place, so he could listen to Michael's rapidly beating heart. "One more day, and this probably wouldn't have happened."

He sighed with relief when he heard a regular, if fast, heartbeat. No stuttering or irregular rhythm. "Okay, Michael, now how about slowing your breathing and getting your circulation moving a bit."

The door to the room opened and a crewman placed a large medical kit on the nearby table. "We've got a good supply of painkillers but their all locked up and Jojo is the only one with a key. He's on his way back now with your friends. As they get here, you tell us want you want and I'll get it."

Clemens nodded, his focus on his patient.

**()()**

As soon as Jojo stepped aboard his yacht, he ordered the anchor to be raised and started snapping out orders. Being this close to shore was bound to attract the Coast Guard attention, and though they had never caught him doing anything illegal, he knew they were watching him. Officially he took dive parties out on live aboard holiday trips; unofficially he ran arms between Miami, Mexico and further south.

While Jojo concentrated on getting them under way, Fiona and Sam followed directions to the stateroom where Clemens was working on stabilizing Michael's condition. As soon as she had been told that Michael had taken a turn for the worse, Fiona had become frantic, threatening to shoot the man at the controls of the Zodiac if he didn't push the small boat to its limits.

As they came through the door, Clemens turned reading the worry on their faces. He bit down on the angry comments he longed to throw at the pair, knowing full well Fiona Glenanne would probably shoot him if he did.

"How is he? We were told..." Fiona stopped beside the bed, her fingers gently running along Michael's arm.

"He's recovering," Clemens replied. "But from now on he needs complete rest. No more..."

He stopped talking his head cocking to one side. Coming from outside was a sound he hadn't heard in a very long time. He locked eyes with Sam who was also suddenly on alert.

"Jesus Christ!" Sam blurted. "Stay here!" Then he turned and, moving with a lurching gait, rushed up on to the deck.

Bursting through the door out into the open, Sam joined Jojo and his eight man crew staring up into the sky, watching an unmanned combat drone fly straight towards Veronica's beach house. They watched in horror as the drone lauched a missile towards the beach house.

After a loud explosion that must have been hear all over Key West, a large plume of smoke and dust rose up in the air and as it slowly cleared away all that was left was a large crater.

Jojo recovered first. "Get us out of here, full speed! The rest of ya break out the big guns the damn thing could be comin' fer us next."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Sam and the crew of the Josephine all watched in disbelief as a Predator unmanned drone flew over the top of their heads, they were still in shock when it fired a missile. It was only Jojo's hastily shouted orders as the smoke began to clear revealing the total decimation of the beach house that broke the spell.

"Get us out of here, full speed! The rest of ya break out the big guns the damn thing could be comin' fer us next."

The yacht's Captain was the first one to notice the drone was making a sweeping circle back towards them. A year long territorial war with a rival gun runner meant that Jojo kept a well stocked armoury and his crew was trained as well as any special forces team to react fast to an attack.

The Yacht began to judder and pitch as it picked up speed, the engines roaring at the sudden acceleration. Sam grabbed hold of the safety railing to steady himself. All the while his mind was reeling with the knowledge that whoever was coming after them had the money, power, and influence to get away with flying and firing an unmanned military spec drone in American airspace. It was the shear scope of the attack that had him stunned. Whoever it was had to have access to a satellite to tail Markov's car to get his location, and to control the drone and then somebody else at NORAD disguising the drone's flight.

The loud chatter of automatic gunfire jerked him back to the present. The crew of the Josephine were lined up along the side of the yacht all armed with P90 submachine guns. As they fired on the approaching drone, Sam's eyes grew wide when he noticed two men at the end of the row loading a grenade launcher.

He watched as the sheer amount of fire power brought down the unmanned craft before it could fire a second missile. As the machine exploded in mid-air, the parts falling into the sea and disappearing under the waves, Sam felt a strong hand grab hold of his shoulder and pull him around. He found Jojo's nose inches off his own, the man's face set in a mask of fury.

"What the hell have you people got me involved in?"

**()()**

_They didn't realize he could still hear them. They spoke in soft whispers, whispering about him._

_Immobile, unable to to open his eyes or utter a sound, Michael was still aware of being moved and he could still hear what was being said._

"_Just …... the stretcher …... We move …. …. he is stable."_

_The voices were distorted and echoing but if he concentrated really hard he could make out the words. _

_They were going to move him, hadn't he just been moved? _

_The straps that held him captive were undone, and whatever they had wrapped him in fell away exposing his flesh to the air. The feeling of being free was short lived, he still couldn't move. The relief he had felt was gone in an instant, they had freed him only because they knew he was helpless._

"_Get ….. .. medical kit... ... IV ..., monitoring equipment and …..., oxygen."_

_Something cold and hard was pressed on to his chest, then his stomach and finally his sides. He felt hands on his head, and then cool dry air started to blow on to his face. That small movement amped up the pounding in his chest, and the pain he was feeling suddenly got worse. _

_Why were they doing this to him?_

"_Michael …... slow …. breathing ….. circulation..." More words that didn't make sense._

_The creak of a door being opened and a new low muttering voice alerting him to the presence of another person in the room. He tried to move his arms again, but they were heavy and wouldn't respond. He felt a numbness creeping into his limbs and he didn't know if he should be grateful the pain was subsiding or not._

"_Painkillers …. . He's …...back …...with your friends... tell us what you want." _

_He was floating, all the pain was falling away, being left behind as he rose above it all. There was peace, he could finally rest. _

"_How is he? We …. told..." _

_This was a new voice, louder than the rest. Feminine, it pulled him back. He concentrated on that voice and the pain returned even worse than before, but he had to hear what she had to say. He had no idea why but she was important to him. _

_Electricity coursed through his arm, fingertips, her fingertips were touching him, he remembered her, the sensation was familiar, comforting._

"_He... recovering... no more..." This was the man, the one who taken over from Vincent. _

_She was with the man who had done this? She hated him, no no she wasn't there he had seen the file. Vincent had shown him the file, she was locked up._

_Suddenly none of that mattered. A noise louder than anything else and pain ripped through his body driving the air out of his lungs, crushing his chest. If he could scream he would have, but there was only mind numbing torturous pain._

**()()**

"Jesus Christ! Stay here," and with those few words Sam was gone, leaving the room as fast as he could on an injured leg.

Fiona went to the window and looked out but couldn't see what had Sam and Clemens so excited. With Sam gone she turned on Billy Clemens, crossing the room with the sole purpose of beating the information out of him if necessary. Few things annoyed Fiona Glenanne more than being the only person in the room not knowing what was going on.

"What? What is it?" She demanded.

"A drone, it sounded like a d-" The rest of Clemens words were cut off by a loud explosion, followed seconds later by the harsh rattle of automatic gunfire.

Instinctively Fiona ducked half expecting another explosion to send them all into the ocean.

"Oh crap!"

Clemens exclamation had her turning to where Michael lay on the bed.

"_Michael!_" Fi cried out, dashing to his side.

Michael's body had arched up off the bed, his head thrown back the veins and tendons in his neck standing out from the strain as his body contorted.

"Do something!" She ordered, shouting over the noise coming from outside.

The whooshing sound of a grenade launcher being fired in close proximity only made the seizure worse as Michael's body jerked and locked again. Then as the noise of battle ended as suddenly as it had started, Michael's body went slack, collapsing flat on to the bed.

"Michael." Fiona breathed his name, gently brushing her fingertips across his forehead, a frown forming when she sensed something was wrong.

"_Oh no you don't!_" Clemens growled, and before Fiona could react the medic grabbed Michael by the arm and threw him off the bed and on to the hard floor.

"No!" Fiona gasped as she watched Michael's limp body land heavily on the floor his head bouncing from the impact. Then the realization of what was happening hit her like a blow to the gut.

"Go get the resuscitation kit it's on the deck." Clemens ordered as he began chest compressions. "GO!" He yelled when she didn't move immediately.

Moving as if in a dream Fiona ran from the room. Her heart was breaking she could feel it shattering in her chest. Michael was dying and she had never felt so helpless in her life. She arrived on the deck in time to see Jojo push Sam against the safety railing, his hand twisted in the front of Sam's shirt.

"What the hell have you people got me into?" Jojo's face was inches of Sam's.

"_STOP IT!_" Fiona grabbed the back of Jojo's shirt and yanked him backwards with all her strength. "Stop it na', Michael is dyin' an' I've no time fer ya bellyachin'." She was past being angry, as she whirled on Jojo pushing him further away from Sam. "I need Billy's kit."

"Take the doc's kit to him." Jojo ordered one of his men and then locked his eyes on Fiona. "See to your fella and then me an' you are going to have a talk, missy."

Fiona gave him a short sharp nod of her head and then she looked at where Sam was catching his breath. "Michael's heart stopped, he – he had a – a fit and collapsed and Billy – Billy sent me to get..."

Sam wrapped an arm around her thin shaking shoulders. "Come on... Let's get back to him." He glared across at Jojo and pushed her towards the corridor leading to Michael's room.

They followed the crewman with Clemens medical supplies into the room. Billy was still on the floor beside Michael pressing down on his chest as he tried to keep his patients circulation moving. Sam moved past Fiona and carefully lowered himself down on the opposite side to Clemens.

"I'll take over while you get set up."

Clemens looked up and gave a brief nod before letting Sam take over. After watching for a moment to make sure Sam knew what he was doing, he got to his feet and dragged the resuscitation kit over to Michael's side.

Fiona stood back unsure what to do and not wanting to be the way as the two men worked on saving Michael's life. While Sam kept up the compressions, Clemens switched the defibrillator on and pulled the backs off two adhesive chest pads. Once the pads were in place, Clemens urged Sam to move back and after one final check everybody was clear he pressed the button that sent an electrical charge across Michael's heart.

Michael's body jerked, and then was still, Sam moved back to restart the compressions but stopped when Clemens held up a hand while he checked the readout on the machine. In that brief pause, as everybody held their breath, Michael suddenly gasped and sucked in a large breath of air. As he exhaled his body shook as he coughed and wheezed.

"Bring the Oxygen over." Clemens snapped at Fiona, as he checked the readouts again.

With the oxygen mask back in place, Clemens cleared away the chest pads and switched off the machine. "Cover him over, keep him warm and quiet."

Getting to his feet Clemens noticed the crew had brought down all the medical supplies including Jojo's drug box containing a variety of vials, pill bottles and syringes.

Sam stayed where he was, his legs splayed out in front of him, leaning back holding himself up with his elbows. Fiona pulled the duvet off the bed and gently covered Michael over, tucking the edges around his body.

"Shouldn't we get him into bed?" She asked.

"No, leave him where he is, and keep quiet," Clemens replied his attention fixed on the medicine box his mind trying to recall training last practised years ago. _Why couldn't Michael Westen have a nice simple bullet hole, or even a limb blown off. He had had plenty of practise with those injuries._

He finally settled on a treatment, as he filled a syringe from one of the vials he spoke in a hushed tone. "Before one of you start threatening me with bodily harm, I want you to remember I've just saved your friend's life. But if you want him to keep living you should seriously think about taking him back to the mainland. The last time I did any doctoring like this was over ten years ago, an' that was a neighbors visiting Grandpa."

"Did he live?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, but that's because after I got his heart going _they took him to a hospital._" He was at Fiona's side now, but she hadn't acknowledged his presence. Carefully removing Michael's arm from under the duvet Clemens injected the drug he hoped would help keep Michael's heart pumping.

"Have you heard a word I've said?"

Fiona glanced up at him before turning her attention back to Michael. "I heard you Billy. You just have to keep him going another couple of days that's all." She leaned down, placing a tender kiss to Michael's brow, before getting to her feet. "Sam, come outside with me and tell me what's happened."

As much as she wanted to stay at Michael's side she had to know what had happened to cause the normally unflappable Jojo to lose his temper and threaten Sam. They were relying on the gunrunner to get them safely to Mexico, if he refused to take them she had no idea what they would do.

Out in the corridor Sam leaned against the wall. "So what do you want to know Fi?" He asked wearily.

"Why was Jojo getting ready to throw you over the side? Billy said something about a drone, and then all we heard was gunfire?" She faced him leaning against the opposite wall.

"Somebody sent a drone to blow up Ronnie's beach house. It's not funny, Fi. We coulda still been inside."

"But _we_ weren't." She replied with a happy little smile. "Just Markov and his men." She had thought about leaving a bomb on a timer set to go off after they were safely on their way. But this was so much better, Markov had been blown up by his employer.

"Well just remember that drone was sent to kill us too, and it takes somebody with a lot of money and power to get away with flying a military drone armed with Hellfire missiles into US airspace."

"One problem at a time Sam. They can't know for sure that we got away, not until the police have done a thorough investigation. I just have to convince Jojo into letting us stay aboard. " She pushed herself upright. "You look terrible. Find out which is your cabin and get some rest. Once I've spoken to Jojo I'll get Billy to take a break and I'll sit with Michael for a while."

"What are you going to say to Jojo?" He had a vision of her taking over the yacht single handed. _Pirate Fi, _he shook his head trying to remove the image which appeared. '_I definitely need a long sleep.'_

"Don't worry about it Sam." She smiled. "I'll appeal to his better nature... I know when a shipment of arms is coming into Miami from Russia... I'm sure Jojo could give those guns a better home."

Sam watched her walk away before trying the room next to Michael's. He found a single bed cabin with an en-suite shower. After a quick wash, he gratefully collapsed onto the bed and was soon contentedly snoring.

**()()**

Fiona found Jojo down in the hold carefully storing away his illegal firearms in one of the many hidden compartments he had secreted about the vessel.

"Your friend feelin' better?" He asked as he continued to work.

"Yes, for now anyway... I want to …."

"You want to say _sorry Jojo fer nearly getting you an your boat blown outta the water. _Is that about right?"

"You know me so well." She grinned, his anger had faded, things weren't as bad as she first thought.

"Oh, don't smile at me girl. I'm still upset wit you." He placed the last of the weapons in it's rack and closed the compartment. "Now why should I help you, an' risk getting' blown to smithereens?"

"I know when a container of guns is coming into the Port of Miami, and I know the route it is taking across the Atlantic."

"A container? A full container?" She thought she actually saw Dollar signs sparking in Jojo's eyes.

"Full of shiny new hardware MP7s, G36s and TVGKs all in desperate need of a good home. Which I am willing to share with the man who helps me and my friends get to Mexico." She cajoled.

Jojo licked his lips, opportunities as big as Fiona's offer didn't come his way that often. It would set him up quite nicely, and pay his daughter's college fees. It would also help replenish his stocks after his war with Philippe Gardeno.

"So Mexico? How quick do you wanna get there?" His friendly grin was back in place.

"Michael needs a steady crossing. As fast as you can, but keep it smooth?"

"I'll go pass the word up to the helm."

"Thank you." She leaned in a gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Just no more drones dropping missiles on us, okay girl." He walked away, happy with the knowledge Fiona was going to help make him a rich man.

**()()**

After sending Billy Clemens off to catch up on some much needed sleep, Fiona pulled all the bedding off the bed and placed it all on the floor next to Michael's sleeping body. Once she was laying down at his side she took his hand gently in her own.

"Two days Michael and we'll have you in a hospital. Markov is dead, and nobody knows where we are."

She stared, mesmerised by the rise and fall of his chest. So far Billy Clemens treatment had worked, and she was confident it would continue to do so. But just in case she was going to stay awake and keep watch.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Seventeen**

He woke to a strange combination of scents; gun smoke and floor polish. Groaning at the tightness in his chest, and the pounding in his skull, Michael opened his eyes and shuddered.

He was being held in restraints, and was completely helpless, unable to escape as the tall thin figure of Doctor Vincent glided into view.

"_Michael, you stopped the medication again. You know what happens when you do that." _

The voice seemed to float out of the air. A cool hand stroked along his cheek and he began to shiver. His tormentor couldn't be there, Fiona and Sam had told him he was safe. Ignoring the figure looming ever closer he tried to work out where he was.

He was laying on a hard flat surface, vibrations were coming up from somewhere below him travelling up through his body. The room was in darkness, he could just make out the shape of a bed, a couple of chairs and a table.

Why was he on the floor?

"_You're not on the floor, you're hallucinating. You've been a bad boy, Michael you stopped taking your meds and now we've had to restrain you and unless you start co-operating you're going to die." _The voice was cold and dispassionate, Doctor Vincent was angry with him.

"Please," the word slipped out before he could stop it. He had never begged for anything. But he wanted it all to stop.

"_You have to tell me about Algeria, Michael. Tell me about the double agent? He may have drugged you, given you something that effected your mind." _Dr Vincent ignored his plea, he was so close now Michael could feel the man's breath of his cheek.

"I don't know," through all the pain he had remained firm, he would not give out the information. He might be going insane but he was sure if the doctor had the right clearance he could find out that piece of intelligence without him.

"_You have to help me Michael, if you won't tell me what I need to know, I can't help you. You know how bad it can get don't you? This is only the beginning. Do you want to end your days locked up in this facility? Do you want to die in agony?"_

"No." He wasn't there his friends had rescued him, they had saved him. They had promised.

"_If__ your friends saved you Michael, why am I here now? Did they tell you I was dead? Do I look dead to you?" Doctor Vincent leered down on him._

"You're not real." Michael gasped as he took another deep shuddering breath.

"_Yes I am, so is the pain. You're dying Michael, you're only chance is to let me help you. Answer my questions, and maybe we can find what triggered – " _

"No – no not real you're not real." He shook his head from side to side in denial, then let out a gasp as the room was suddenly bathed in light.

Dr Vincent's face shimmered and faded to be replaced by another. The bright lights were blurring Michael's vision making it impossible for him to see who had hold of him.

"Michael, it's Fi, you have to calm down." This new feminine and obviously concerned voice drowned out the coldly patient tones of Dr Vincent.

**()()**

"Please."

Fiona's eyes snapped open as soon as Michael spoke, his voice little more than a whisper but it was enough to wake her.

Sitting up she stroked her hand gently along his cheek feeling the burning heat of a fever. "Michael, it's okay I'm here with you." She leaned closer to him speaking into his ear, her concern growing as he shuddered and tried to move away.

"I don't know," he whispered through dry cracked lips, the oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose making his speech even harder to hear.

Fiona sat back on her heels, she was going to have to wake Billy. She checked the oxygen level and pulse meter on Michael's finger. His pulse rate was rising again, his chest expanding and contracting in short forced breaths.

"Not again, please not again." She muttered before pressing a kiss to his brow.

"No." He spoke firmly. Then after a pause. "You're not real."

"Yes I am," she told him squeezing his hand.

"N – no not real, you're not real." His head turned from side to side as he denied her existence.

She was becoming more and more concerned, realizing he probably couldn't see her clearly she reached up switching on a nearby table lamp.

Michael let out a gasp as his eyes went from wide open to screwed tightly shut.

"It's okay," she soothed, cupping his cheeks between her palms. "Michael it's me, you have to calm down, you're safe. Open your eyes. I'm here."

She waited as he slowly opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light. "Fi – ona?" He breathed her name.

"That's right." She smiled down at him. "You were having a bad dream."

"I – " His eyes slid shut before he could complete whatever he was about to say.

"Michael?" Fiona placed a hand on his chest only relaxing when she felt the rapid beat of his heart.

Pressing a kiss to his brow she got to her feet and went to find Billy. She had risked Michael's life too many times, but not any more. She would never forget the feeling of helplessness that had filled her heart and mind watching Billy Clemens and Sam work on getting Michael's heart to start.

Pausing she took one last look before crossing the corridor and banging on the opposite door. "Billy! Michael needs you."

She waited for a couple of seconds, then banged again. "Billy open up or I'm coming in!"

The door swung open and a even more dishevelled than normal Billy Clemens staggered out. "Two hours sleep Fiona that's all I've had... What's up?"

"Michael's pulse is a hundred and thirty and his oxygen level has dropped to eighty." She was already re-entering her room where Michael lay on the floor.

"He was dreaming, well having a nightmare."

She stood back while Billy came past her to check over his patient.

"Well he's asleep now, and his vitals are the same as they were when I went to bed." Billy got back to his feet a scowl on his face.

"He was awake," Fiona insisted.

"Yeah well he's not now an' I'd like to get back to sleep myself."

"If he wakes up again what should I do?"

Billy dropped his head forward. "Keep him calm, try to get him to drink some water – "

He suddenly looked up staring directly her, for the first time he realized exactly how worried she was. Without a gun in her hand, and no immediate danger threatening she was just a woman scared for her man.

"Look, er," he was good at patching people up, but totally useless at dealing with concerned friends and family. "If you need something to do, why don't you clean him up a bit you know give him a wash and a shave. It might make him feel better."

"It won't hurt him?"

"It's a wash, use water and a wash cloth. Don't let him get cold. I don't think you can do any damage with a bar of soap. Besides it might help." Covering his mouth as he yawned, Billy opened the door to leave. "Now I'm gonna get some sleep."

Fiona was coming out of the bathroom with a bowl filled with warm water, when Billy came back into the room. "Use this," he dropped an wash bag onto the table. "When you shave him watch his oxygen levels. Don't leave the mask off for long."

"Thank – " she got no further as the door closed behind him.

She finished gathering everything she needed, before collecting the wash bag, smiling when she recognized it as Sam's; Billy must have sneaked into the other man's room. Kneeling down beside Michael she unzipped the bag and emptied the contents next to her.

Pausing for a moment she ran her fingers through his hair. "Okay Michael let's get you cleaned up."

Dipping her fingers into the the bowl of water she checked the temperature for what must have been the third time before finally pulling the wash cloth out and wringing it out, adding a small amount of soap she set about cleaning Michael's face starting at the hair line.

As he lay peacefully sleeping she couldn't help but remember the last time she had attempted to clean him up. When they had first arrived at Veronica's beach house she had tried to wash away all the sweat and grime from his captivity while Sam had held him down. It had been a quick and messy wash as he had fought them the whole time, kicking striking out and screaming until he had finally collapsed as the symptoms of withdrawal took hold of him. Since then she had only wiped his face whenever he had thrown up or when his fever had peaked. Now though she was going to do a proper job.

She took her time cleaning away all the dried sweat and grime from the last few days. Gently cradling his head she removed the elastic from around his head so she could remove the oxygen mask. Nervously she glanced at the oxygen meter; it registered 92. She quickly washed over the lower part of his face her fingers combing through at least three days of beard growth. Her thumb tracing the outline of his lips. He looked so peaceful, his eyelids flickering as he dreamed, she could tell it was something pleasant by the way his lips were curved into a smile.

A faint beeping noise from the oxygen meter warned her his levels had dropped. A quick looked at the display flashing 70 was all the confirmation she needed. Placing the mask back in place, she leaned close to his ear.

"You're going to get better Michael, I'm not done with you yet." She whispered into his ear, watching the digital display slowly begin to rise.

Patting his face dry, she drew the duvet back slightly and placed his arms on top of the towel she had draped over the covers. She frowned at the dark lines speckled with darker dots, evidence of how many times Markov had stuck a needle in his arm.

Rinsing out the cloth she rubbed a bit more soap onto the flannel and started to clean his limbs. They were so thin now, all the muscle tone lost during his incarceration. Reaching his wrists she stared at the deep bruises that circled each joint from where he had been tied down. Kissing each ring of bruises better, she carefully dried each limb.

**()()**

"_I'm not done with you yet." Fiona growled the words out, as she moved towards him. _

_He thought she looked completely predatory, her eyes flickering over his semi naked body. _

"_Fi, I have to – " _

_He forgot what he had to do as she reached him her arms stretching up to encircle his neck while her fingers curved to scrape against his skull pulling his head down into a deep kiss._

"_And I said I wasn't done with you."_

_Her soft hands were on his face, stroking his cheeks, jawline and her thumbs pressing against his lips until he sucked them into his mouth. He gripped the digits lightly in between his teeth. Just for a second before releasing them._

"_Fi, I have to go, I have..." He had tried to back up, his arm reaching for the shirt hanging over the back of a chair._

_She wasn't listening to him instead her hands caressed his arms her fingers dancing lightly over his skin tracing the lines of his muscles. The shirt stayed on the chair, as his hands began their own exploration._

"_The burn notice? It's always the burn notice. Let it go, and start enjoying what we have. You said Management promised to leave you alone. You're free Michael." _

_Her lips lay kiss after kiss around his wrists then up his left arm along his clavicle and over his heart._

_A heart that was stuttering and trying to jump from his chest. He felt her warm touch igniting a fire that flared through his body making him gasp. Her fingertips ghosted over the the scar she had caused years ago in Germany before moving on to his abdomen and then lower still._

"_Do you still want to go?" She whispered in his ear. "Or do you want to stay here, with me?"_

"_I – Fi," he couldn't for the world think why he would ever want to be anywhere else._

**()()**

With his arms clean and dry, Fiona closed her eyes before drawing back the duvet as far as his hips, exposing the whole of his torso. Opening her eyes she stared down at his ravaged body, each of his ribs jutted through his skin, all his muscle tone had withered away he was literally skin and bone, his stomach sunk in making a hollow between his hipbones.

Keeping her emotions firmly in check she wiped the damp soapy cloth across his chest, and under his arms and then rinsed him clean before reaching for one of the soft towels. As she dried him felt him flinch and then gasp.

"Stay here, Michael, stay here with me." Her worried gaze left his face to check on the monitoring equipment, all was good, or what passed for good at the moment.

"I – Fi, Fi is that you?" His voice was weak, and muffled by the oxygen mask.

"Hey," she smiled down at him.

"You have to go." He urged trying to move, frowning when he couldn't get his head off the pillow. "Vincent, Doctor Vin – "

"Sshhh." She cupped his cheek. "You're safe, here with us."

"Us?"

"Sam and me, the bad guys are gone you just have to get better."

"But Vincent," he pressed.

"He's gone, Michael. Killed by his own side. He can't hurt you any more." She could help smiling at the thought of the weasel getting blown up by a guided missile.

"Fi?" His voice was little more than a whisper, he blinked several times fighting the exhaustion racking his body.

"Shhh, it's just you and me here, go back to sleep," she urged, the pulse monitor displayed his heart rate was rising rapidly.

**()()**

"_It's just you and me here, all alone for the whole evening." She gave him a mischievous smile._

"_Alone?" He gulped._

"_Yes, Sean and Rosie won't be back til late, an' tha kids are sleeping soundly." Her fingers walked their way down his shirt._

_He moved back. "How long are they going to be?" Sean was his friend and obviously trusted him enough to let him be in the house while his sister baby sat their children, but that didn't mean the fiery tempered Irishman would approve of what the youngest Glenanne had in mind for their evening._

"_Hours, they willnae be back 'til after last orders."_

_He glanced quickly at the clock, it was eight pm. A slow smile curved his lips and the corners of his eyes crinkled. _

"_Well then it would be a shame to waste the time watching the telly." He had lunged at her and they had fallen to the floor laughing._

**()()**

Fiona continued to stroke his cheek, waiting for him to relax. The oxygen meter showed his blood oxygen levels were back up in the low nineties, and his pulse had levelled out at around the same figure. She knew the reading wouldn't get much better.

"Okay Michael it's time for a shave."

She carefully removed the oxygen mask and reached for Sam's electric shaver. Switching it on, she waited expecting Michael to stir but he was fast asleep. Working quickly, she removed his beard before his O2 levels dropped too low. Once she was done, she kissed his smooth cheek before replacing the mask.

Sitting back on her heels she studied Michael's clean shaven features, his thick dark eyelashes stood out against his deathly pale skin. His lips were thin and tinged blue-grey, without the beard she could see how gaunt he had become.

If Viktor Markov wasn't already dead she would have been going on the hunt to kill him as painfully as possible.

With a sigh she got to her feet and began to clear away the washing bowl and towels. Once everything was put away she glanced at the wall clock, it was two am and she still wasn't ready to fall asleep. Rearranging the covers, she switched the light off and lay back down as close to Michael's side as she could get, entwining her fingers with his.

"Fi? Fiona!"

"I'm here," she turned his head so he could see her.

"I thought you'd gone."

"I told you before I'm not going anywhere. Now go to sleep."

"Y- you always go. I wake up and you're gone."

"Not this time."

"Promise?"

He sounded so lost, she brought her hand up to his cheek, her thumb gently tracing his cheekbone. "I promise."

"Why am I on the floor?" He was fighting to stay awake but it was a battle he was losing.

"Because that's where it's safest for you." Fiona answered, as he finally fell back to sleep.

She watched him for another hour her eyes fixed on the rise and fall of his chest, until she eventually fell into a light sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Eighteen**

The click of the door knob turning was enough to alert Fiona to an intruder entering the room. In one swift practiced move, her hand slid under her pillow and fingers curled around the chequered steel handle of her favorite handgun. As the gun lifted, she flicked the safety off and thumbed back the hammer. Sitting up fast she pointed the cocked and ready to fire weapon directly at Sam Axe.

"Hey, easy there, Fi," Sam strolled into the room unconcerned by the gun being aimed at his head. "How's our boy doing?"

"A little better, I think. He woke up a couple of times. The second time he seemed...more coherent. He knew who I was." As she spoke, she made the gun safe and then leaned over to stroke Michael's brow, reassuring herself he was improving.

"We're going to get him through this."

Sam wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or just trying to convince herself. He wandered over to draw the curtain back from over the window while Fiona slowly got to her feet.

"He's a fighter, Fi. We just have to make sure he gets the rest he needs." Sam's eyes lighted on his missing wash bag sitting on the table.

"So that's where my wash bag ended up. Haven't you heard of asking, Ms. Sticky Fingers?" He picked up his property.

"Billy got it for Michael. He needed a shave and what about you? Haven't you ever heard of knocking before entering a lady's room?"

"Yeah, but you're no..." He paused noting the gleam in her eye daring him to finish the sentence; already suffering with bruised ribs and a sore leg, Sam wasn't feeling that brave.

"So another thirty six hours at sea, what are the plans? I thought maybe a little fishing," he changed the subject.

"Fishing? You want – " She stopped speaking when she suddenly realized there was no engine noise; the yacht was no longer moving.

"How long have we been stationary?"

Sam cocked his head to the side, "I don't know. Now that I think about it, the engines were quiet when I got up. I just – "

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Wait here. I'll go and see what's happened."

Leaving the room, she tucked her gun into the back of her waistband and stalked along the corridor, combing her fingers through her tangled hair and straightening her sleep rumpled clothes. _What the hell was Jojo playing at? Didn't he understand the seriousness of the situation?_

She found Jojo in the galley, sitting on one chair with his feet up on another while eating a fried breakfast off a plate balanced on his lap. The sight and smell of the bacon, egg and fried bread all swimming in grease made her stomach turn.

"Why aren't we moving?" she demanded, stopping in front of the yacht captain.

Jojo glanced up at her unconcerned by her tone. Taking another mouthful of food before answering, he spoke while he continued to chew.

"Take a seat girl and I'll tell ya." He nodded to a nearby chair.

"_You do realize_ that Michael needs to be in hospital. Whatever game you're playing...," her concern was making her jump to conclusions.

"I said _**sit**_." Jojo stopped eating, his eyes blazing as his temper rose to match the fiery attitude of the woman facing him.

They glared at each other, neither willing to back down. Finally though Jojo relaxed back in his chair and took another bite of his fried bread.

"Please, just sit down and stop glaring at me and I'll tell ya." Jojo calmed down as fast as he angered. "Sit, girl, we both know you're not going to shoot me."

With a brief nod Fiona sat down stiffly.

"Good, we've stopped cos I gotta warning the Coast Guard is coming this way. We have to be ready in case they stop us. At the moment everybody is working on hiding the weapons away and making us look like we're on a cruise."

"What about us?" Fiona was calm, now realizing the seriousness of the situation.

"All four of you are gonna have to hide in the hold. It'll be a tight squeeze. I had a false bottom built in..."

"Michael can't be moved and he definitely can't be put in some hole," Fiona cut him off.

Jojo sighed patiently.

"Fiona, you know the drill, I can't stop 'em boarding or searching. All I can do is slow em down and make sure they get a more important call. The guy who warned me has promised if I get boarded, he'll send out a boat in distress call. As long as they're not suspicious, they'll let us go. But if they find four people on board without papers and one of them looks like your fella- Hell they'll tear us apart."

"What about if we make it look like we're clients?" Sam asked.

"An' how do you intend doin' that?" Jojo asked, turning to look to where Sam stood in the doorway.

Sam strolled into the room and as he walked towards Jojo and Fiona he began to subtly change before their eyes.

"Charles Finley." Sam held out his hand to Jojo, putting on a snobbish old money Bostonian accent, "and the old ball and chain Charlotte." He gestured to Fiona, before continuing. "Newlyweds on a cruise. _Very demanding _newlyweds. You get my drift?" he winked at Fiona.

"You'll need some ID. You got anything with you? It would have to be good enough to stand up to investigation?" Jojo wasn't convinced they could pull it off.

"I have a driving license and some business cards from that job we did for Harlan." Sam looked at Fiona. "When I set Mike up as that shady lawyer Tom Wellington, I also made up a cover for myself in case he needed any back up: Charles Finley, senior partner of the law firm employing Mr. Wellington."

"I've nothing on me," Fiona admitted, when the two men looked at her.

"If the Coast Guard boards, they're gonna want to see some papers, girl. You know that," Jojo chastised.

"I'm not stupid," she snapped back. " I didn't – we were..."

"Say, Fi, think you can play stupid?" Sam asked.

"Pardon me?" she stiffened, her eyes wide.

"I see Charlotte Finley, trophy wife to the fabulously wealthy Charles as a bit of a ditz. Maybe she dropped her purse with the passports overboard, possibly at the same time as she smashed my ribs moving one of those air tanks when we went scuba diving."

"You want me to be an airhead?"

"The airier, the better," Sam confirmed, before fixing his gaze on Jojo. "We would just have to keep the Coast Guard busy until your friend could send out the distress call right?"

"Yeah," Jojo agreed. "But we're still going to have to move your friend. He's in our best bedroom suite. It would be the one used by you two."

"We can keep them out," Fiona stated firmly and then spoke to Sam. "I thought _you_ were watching Michael?"

"Billy came in said he was going to be making Mikey more comfortable and he thought I should leave."

Fiona didn't need to ask any more questions; instead she got to her feet. "We should get ready, how long until we know if they're going to stop us?"

"An hour, maybe a bit longer," Jojo took his last mouthful of bacon and got to his feet. "If you're going to do this, come with me. I might have something that'll help."

Fiona and Sam followed Jojo up a set of stairs and onto the sun deck then over to a small room marked private. Inside they were surprised to find a small neat bedroom.

"My daughter Elena's room," Jojo told them as he lead them over to a dressing room with floor to ceiling mirrors on two of the walls. He pulled back the curtain on the third wall to reveal a wardrobe, hanging inside were several bikinis, swimsuits, dresses, shorts and tops.

Fiona pulled out a hanger holding a very revealing bikini. "How old is Elena now?"

"Eighteen; she's going to college this year if her grades are good enough," Jojo smiled with pride.

"And you let her wear things like this?" Fiona waved the article in front of him.

"Hey that lil piece of nothing cost me a fortune. Everything in there has a designer label. That girl won't wear anything else."

Fiona took out a dress and held it against her body. Elena was maybe a size larger than herself and a couple of inches taller. The dress was too long for her frame, but with the right heels… Her eyes lit up at the row of designer shoes on a shelf at the bottom of the closet.

"I can make this work," she announced, pulling out a slightly less revealing bikini and a pair of four inch wedges. "Leave!" she told the two men. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Look in the second drawer down, there's a small jewelry box. Nothing in there's real but it'll pass at a distance," Jojo called out as Sam edged him towards the door.

Leaving Fiona to chose an outfit, Sam lead the way off the sun deck and towards the rear of the yacht, an eager grin lighting up his features.

"So I was thinking, if I'm playing a filthy rich pain in your ass, how about if I'm sat back here doing a bit of fishing. I saw some rods and lures in the storeroom."

"You want to fish?" Jojo asked.

"Well, we've got to make it look real," Sam replied easily.

The last time he had stayed at the beach house with Veronica, they had chartered a fishing boat and spent a whole day fishing for marlin and he wasn't about to miss the chance to have another go now.

"Okay, I'll get you set up. You and Fiona are really going to have to work hard to delay a search party. How obnoxious do you think the pair of you can be?" Jojo asked.

"We've done a—similar- thing before. Don't worry about it." He slipped his arm around Jojo's shoulder. "Now while we get me set up for a days fishing, let's run through our cover."

**()()**

"Hey! Fiona, where you put your gun in that outfit. girl?"

The shout came from Jojo's second in command, a man she had known for the last two years.

Fiona ignored the looks and comments that came her way as she left the sun deck and made her way towards Michael's room. She was dressed in four inch high white wedge sandals, an olive green French cut bikini with a very revealing white lace sun dress over the top. Her hair was piled up on top of her head with carefully arranged tendrils curling down framing her face and, on the third finger of her left hand, what appeared to be a large diamond ring.

Hearing the commotion, Sam and Jojo turned around to see what all the fuss was about. Sam looked her up and down, then turned back to fixing a left hand reel to the fishing rod of his choice. He had seen Fiona dressed in far less than she had on and frankly, besides being his best friend's on and off again girlfriend, Fiona wasn't his type.

Jojo however hadn't seen Fiona dressed in anything other than jeans, or cargo pants and a T-shirt since she had worked with him over two years ago. He didn't realize he was staring until a small hard fist connected with the left side of his jaw.

"Put your eyes back in their sockets, Jojo, or I'll do it for you!"

Jojo took a step back, rubbing his freshly bruised jaw. "I'd almost forgotten you were female until now," he replied, backing up another step waving his hands in surrender. "I'll leave you to fill 'Mrs. Finley' in on your cover story, while I go make sure the crew knows what's going to happen." With a final smirk and a chuckle, Jojo moved away to check on his men.

**()()**

"No! You're not – you're not her. She was here, she promised me!"

Fiona could hear Michael's voice as she walked along the narrow corridor leading to her room. She increased her speed as she picked up on the rising levels of panic in his tone.

"Mike, you have to calm down. Look, if you just settle down, I'll send somebody to find her, okay? How does that sound?"

Fiona opened the door to discover Billy trying to keep Michael wrapped and immobile in the duvet, while Michael fought feebly to break free.

"It's another trick... You – did it – to me!" He was beginning to gasp and she could see sweat beading on his forehead.

Billy looked up and did a double take at Fiona's appearance.

"Don't say a word," she growled, still simmering at Sam's and Jojo's plan to delay the Coast Guard's search of the boat.

"I wouldn't dare," Billy replied, tightening his hold on the duvet. "Can you give me a hand here?"

"Let me talk to him."

Billy let go and stepped back, allowing Fiona to kneel down at Michael's side.

"Michael," she spoke softly, her hand gently caressing his cheek. "Michael, I'm here now. I had to help Sam with something. But I'm back now."

He turned away from her, his eyes tightly shut. "No, it's a not real. Nothing is real."

"Michael!" she spoke sharply, as if to a naughty child. "Look at me."

She watched as he calmed, one eye opened and then the other. "Fi?"

"Yes, see, I'm here now," she smiled down at him.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"Why are you dressed like that?" he asked, his voice sounding hollow and muffled by the oxygen mask.

"It's for a mission."

"Is that why you left me? For a mission?"

She gasped and bit back the angry retort that nearly spewed out of mouth. _How dare he!_

"You promised. I thought I'd dreamed it all. I thought I was back there." He clutched at her hand.

Taking a deep breath, Fiona did her best to remain calm; at least now he knew what she felt when he left her without a word.

"It's not a dream, you're free and we're taking you somewhere to get you better. But now we have to do a mission. You have to help Billy here. We need to hide you both." She waited to see if he understood.

She relaxed when he nodded.

"Good, it's really important you keep quiet and very still. Can you do that? Whatever you hear, not a sound until Sam or I come to get you."

He had fallen asleep.

Fiona sat back on her heels and continued to stroke Michael's cheek. It was only when Billy cleared his throat she looked up at him.

"So why _are_ you dressed like that?" he inquired.

"The Coast Guard's in the area and _I'm dressed like this_ as part of a cover story to explain our presence." She took a deep breath, using the time to study Michael's peaceful expression. "You're going to have to keep Michael quiet and we're going to have to move him out of sight."

"Fiona, we could maybe move him on to the bed, but..." Billy's expression told her how unhappy he was about moving Michael at all.

"No, not on the bed, he has to be out of sight; how about under the bed?"

"I – "

"I don't like it either, Billy, but we can't outrun the Coast Guard and if they find him they'll take him away."

"Okay, okay, we'll move him the same way we moved Sam, drag him across on the bedding. But if he wakes up, it could get bad."

"There's nothing I can do about it now. You'll just have to do your best to keep him calm. It won't be for long."

There was a bang on the door and one of Jojo's crew stuck their head inside the room. "Coasties are gonna be here in five." Then he was gone.

"There's no more time," Fiona ordered. "Let's get the pair of you out of sight."

**()()**

Jojo stood on the deck watching the Coast Guard cutter closing in on their position. He wasn't surprised when the order came to prepare for being boarded. Knowing that they were all being watched, he made a big show of ordering his men to prepare for an inspection and sent a man over to where Charles Finley sat at the stern of the Josephine with a fishing rod in his hands. He also sent another man to make the call to his friend on the other boat. Fiona didn't know it yet, but there was now another partner in the little bit of piracy they had planned for the near future.

"Hey, Delaney! Last time I saw The Josephine you were sailing along the Intracoastal Waterway. What are you doing out here?" Lieutenant Oscar Fredericks called out as the Coast Guard inflatable pulled up alongside The Josephine.

"Yeah, well, it's my own stupid mistake," Jojo beamed at the Coast Guard officer as he came on board.

"I got greedy. Newlyweds wanting a cruise across to Cancun and back. He's some big time lawyer, absolutely loaded so I thought it would be a nice easy money job."

Fredericks watched as the rest of his men came aboard, already spreading out to search the vessel.

"Not so easy, huh?" he sympathized, as they made their way to the salon to go through all the crews paper work.

Suddenly, there was a loud feminine shriek.

"Help! Charles! Help! Get out, get out! Captain Delaney!"

Jojo grinned at the Lieutenant, "Ah, the dulcet tones of Mrs. Charles Finley."

The two men watched as a young ensign appeared, reversing out onto the deck, being followed by a screeching, wide eyed woman clutching the front of her lace dress.

"Charles! Charles, I've just been attack in our own room. There are armed men. Men with guns!" Her eyes lighted on Jojo.

"Captain Delaney, I demand to know why there are men brandishing guns, breaking down my door."

Jojo opened his mouth to answer, but Mrs. Charles Finley didn't give him a chance to speak.

"What sort of cruise are you running, Captain Delaney? First my poor dear husband is nearly killed and now I have a strange man bursting into my room," she sniffed, her bottom lip trembling when she looked up at the Lieutenant with wide, misty doe eyes. "Who are you?"

"Mrs. Finley, ma'am, I'm Lieutenant Fredericks of the Coast Guard. My men have to inspect the yacht. It's-"

"Is it necessary to break down the door to a lady's room?" she appealed to the young officer.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have to – Wait, did you say your husband was nearly killed?" Lt. Fredericks asked, trying to regain some control over the situation.

"Mister Finley had an accident with an air tank – and a spear gun," Jojo answered the Coast Guard's question dryly, "Discharged by Mrs. Finley."

"I thought I saw a shark." She drew herself up indignantly. Her eyes lit up as Charles Finley limped into view.

"Charles, I've just been assaulted by..."

"Now, now, pumpkin." Charles offered up a suave charming smile. "Let me deal with this."

Lt. Fredericks found himself under the supercilious gaze of an older man dressed in a loose fitting Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.

"Charles Finley, senior partner at Finley, Finley and Carstairs. My law firm is based in Boston but we have offices in fifteen cities along the Eastern Seaboard." As he spoke, he handed a gilt edged business card to the Lieutenant. "Now, I think it best if we have ourselves a little sit-down conversation, gentlemen. Charlotte, my dear, why don't you go and have a lie down, recover your senses."

"Sir, we have to inspect every part of the yacht," Lt Fredericks spoke up.

"Oh, my, do you mean to say I have to submit to an armed ruffian going through all my personal belongings?" Mrs. Finley gasped.

Charles raised an eyebrow at the young Lt. "What if we go along all together and let the Lieutenant have a look. I'm sure being an officer; he will be a complete gentleman."

"Sir, we have a job to do. All my men are fully trained professionals. If you have nothing to hide..." His words trailed off under the cold eyed scrutiny of the older man.

"Trained professionals?" Charles nodded towards where the young ensign who Fiona had driven away from her room was now openly staring at her exposed rear end.

"_I_ told you we should have stayed at the compound at Palm Beach instead of taking this ridiculous cruise," Charles aimed this comment at his new wife before returning his attention back to the Lieutenant.

"Women are always bad luck on boats, that's why this little lady," Charles wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her in close, "Never sets foot on my sailboat out at_ Hyannis Port_."

Fredericks wasn't stupid. He picked up on all the hints Finley was sending his way. The man was an entitled jerk. His message was loud and clear: _Stand in my way and I'll squash you like a bug._

Fredericks drew himself up and squared his shoulders. There was no way he was going to ask Captain Breyer to come over because he couldn't manage one man who thought he was above the law.

"If you care to accompany Ensign Davis while he inspects your quarters, that is not a problem. But, in the meantime, I have to examine the crew's and your identity papers. So if you would so kind as to get the …." He broke off as his radio crackled.

Holding up a hand Fredericks turned away. Jojo and 'the Finleys' listened in to the conversation, a feeling of relief sweeping over the group when they heard a cackling voice order the boarding party back to the cutter.

"Do you have any concerns?"

Fredericks looked around before answering then with a sigh. "No, Sir, no concerns."

"Get back here then. A B.I.D. takes priority."

"Sorry to have bothered you," Fredericks managed to smile. "Captain Delaney, good luck and you have my sympathy."

They watched as the boarding party left and travelled back to the cutter. A few minutes later, the larger boat started to move away to answer the Boat in Distress call that had just come in.

"_Phew!" _Jojo leaned against the safety rail. "I was sure you were going to drive him into striping my boat down to the bare wood."

"Nah," Sam Axe replied, dropping the Charles Finley persona in an instant. "If necessary Charlotte here could have strutted her stuff and kept em busy watching her booty."

Fiona shot Sam a furious look, but before she could offer a retort.

"Sam, you're being unfair – she coulda just shrieked at em. I tell ya, Fi, you near deafened me with your yellin'."

Fiona spun glaring at one man and then the other, and then, pointing a finger at one then the other. "Keep it up _gentlemen,_" she snapped. "But just remember, Sam, I know where you sleep, and, Jojo, I'm just going to say this once, _it's a small boat;_ accidents happen."

Both men were serious for a moment, but then Jojo started laughing. "Yeah like mistaking a man for a shark. I'd best hide away all the spear guns."

Realizing that unless she committed bodily harm to the two men she wasn't going to win, Fiona stamped first on Sam's foot and then kicked Jojo in the shin before storming off.

**()()**

A loud knock made him stir.

A click of a door being opened, followed by a stranger's voice got his attention.

"Oh – er, I'm sorry, ma'am."

Followed by a frantic cry for help.

"Help! Charles! Help! Get out, get out!"

Michael's eyes snapped open.

_Fiona's voice, Fiona calling for help. He was surrounded by darkness. Lifting his knees, they hit something hard. He reached up and there was definitely something above him. He began to hyperventilate; he had been here before._

_Something was over his mouth; something else had hold of his arm... He couldn't breathe. Where was Fiona, or Sam? They promised... Fiona had called for him; he couldn't get to her. It was his fault, his fault; he should have looked after them all._

_There was something at his side. He had been there before he remembered. A cave in, he was on a training mission in Virginia they were in a cave and – and it collapsed. That was it. He was in that cave; it was Wilson's body next to his. Wilson was – had been three years older than him._

"_Wil – Wilson," he gasped. "They – 're – c'ming – c'ming. Don't – d – die."_

"Michael? Hey, Mike, it's okay. You have to be calm. Remember the mission."

Billy shook Michael's arm trying to attract his attention but it was useless; he could tell things were only going to get worse.

_The only noise he could hear now was the pounding in his skull, a loud rhythmic whooshing which blocked out everything else._

"_I warned you, Michael. I warned you this would happen. You can't escape."_

"_No!" he gave a muffled cry."Dead, dead killed by your own men."_

"_Do I look dead?"_

_He was blacking out; there was a hand gripping his arm and, very faintly, he thought he could hear somebody talking. Were they talking about him? Always talking about him._

"Michael!" Billy hissed again, he couldn't see his patient clearly but he could hear his labored breathing and feel the twitches and jerks warning of an oncoming seizure.

"Damn it." Billy dragged himself out from under the bed and went around to the other side.

If the Coast Guard came back into the room, they would just have to deal with it. Surely having their friend alive and maybe locked up was better than having him dead all because a Coast Guard _might_ come back into the room.

Carefully, he pulled Michael out from under the bed. He was deathly pale, his breaths coming in short sharp puffs, his eyes wide and filled with panic above the oxygen mask.

"Fi's – in trouble," he gasped making an effort to grab the doctor's arm.

"She's fine, Mike. She'll be here soon." Billy glanced at the door before turning back to his patient. "You have to be quiet. Do you remember Fiona said we're on a mission? That we have to be quiet?"

"A mission? She's hurt on a mission?" The oxy meter began to beep as Michael's heart rate went high into three figures. "No, no, not fine. We were in a cave, a cave in. Wilson is dead."

"Wilson? There's no Wilson, man. It was just you and me hiding out from the bad guys, that's all."

"What's going on?"

Billy sighed with relief at the sound of Fiona's voice.

"You were supposed to stay hidden until I came back." She was beside him now, concern replacing the anger. "What's wrong?"

"He's been hallucinating; he thinks you're in danger."

"Michael?" She took one of his hands in both of hers, "Michael, I'm back now. Everybody is safe."

"Hurt, you're hurt... I heard you." He looked up at her worriedly. "I heard you, but we were trapped. We lost Wilson."

"There's no Wilson, just us and we're all safe."

She could tell he was tiring now. His eyes kept closing and he had to fight to stay awake.

"Hey, Fi, put some clothes on before getting all cozy with Mike."

Sam stepped into the room, still very pleased with himself and his performance as Charles Finley.

"And you should take a shower sometimes, especially when you're going to touch me."

"Yeah, well sister, don't worry about it. You nearly cut me with them sharp, sticky out bones of yours. Haven't you heard of protein?"

Michael squeezed her hand in the first show of strength in what felt like ages. "Fiona," he puffed, his voice little more than whisper. "Sam, please, be quiet, guys."

For a second everybody was quiet, all eyes on Michael's completely still form. Then, as his chest continued to rise and fall evenly, they all let out a collective sigh of relief.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Nineteen**

After the brief bit of excitement caused by the visit from the Coast Guard, the crew of the Josephine quickly got back to their regular tasks. The yacht couldn't steer itself, food needed to be prepared and cooked and those not working on keeping them moving set to work repairing any broken or damaged equipment.

Inside the main guest suite Fiona had changed back into her own clothes and brushed out her hair, before settling down on the bed to keep watch over Michael. Seeing he wasn't needed, Billy Clemens left the pair alone and went up onto the sun deck with a book in search of some much needed peace and solitude.

Sam though had plans of his own, after reassuring himself Michael wasn't in any immediate danger he headed back outside and sought out the Yacht's captain. It took him less than five minutes to talk Jojo into joining him at the rear of the yacht where the fishing equipment was still set up waiting to be used. After all he pointed out, the steady ten knots an hour the Josephine was travelling to guarantee a smooth journey for Michael also happened to be the optimum speed for Marlin fishing.

With nothing urgent to occupy his time Jojo hadn't taken much convincing. So while Sam eased his aching body down into one of the chairs set up and bolted down to the deck to aid the fishermen in the capture of the large powerful fish they were hoping to tangle with. Jojo stood nearby buckling himself into the harness that would stop him being dragged overboard should they catch a big one.

Taking a couple of iced beers from the cooler set up in between the chairs Sam twisted the caps off both while waiting for his new buddy to finish all his preparations.

"I tell ya in a few days time when my ribs have healed up a bit I wouldn't mind the chance to have a go myself." Sam commented.

"Well, we was lucky with the sonar showing us that school of fish up ahead. We'll get a bit closer to 'em and hopefully catch us a hungry Marlin. There's some real monsters out here, last year I took out a group of Texans out on a fishing vacation, an' there was one guy who caught hisself a big one, it must have been nearly nine hundred pounds of pure muscle. It took an hour to reel it in." Jojo finished strapping himself in, and then sent out the lines.

Pretty soon the two men were sat side by side sipping cold beers, watching the fishing lines trailing out into the the churned up water caused by the passage of the yacht. For a while they sat in companionable silence, until Jojo coughed and cleared his throat.

"Have you worked out how you're going to get your friend into a hospital?"

"We spoke about it last night." Sam replied easily, enjoying the chance to recuperate while doing two of his most favorite things.

"Uh-huh, I could take you to one of my drop off points fer bringing guns in, but –"

"But Mikey wouldn't survive another ride in one of your Zodiacs," Sam put in, "We've already thought about it. No, it's gonna have to be Cancun or one of the harbors along that stretch of coast."

"There'll be customs and immigration officers waiting for you." Jojo warned. "And I bet not one of you thought to bring a passport, or any cash."

"At the time, the situation seemed to call for guns and C4. ID and cash was a low priority." Sam shrugged. "We were thinking about a medical emergency. Something that will have everybody running about and not having any time to ask awkward questions."

Jojo nodded, and took a long sip of his beer. "It's a plan I suppose."

"Well, we've got at least another day to mash out the details...Like I said before, we do this sorta thing all the time, we'll work in out."

Ten minutes went by with both men staring out to sea. Sam finished his beer and reached into the cooler for another, while Jojo lit up a cigarette and enjoyed his smoke.

"I've known Fiona for a coupla years now, an' in that time she's turned out to be a real good friend... Yer know the first time I saw her I didn't think she'd last a week in this business." Jojo chuckled.

Sam gave the captain a sideways look wondering where the other man was going with the new topic of conversation. Still it was a pleasant afternoon, and he had plenty of beer, so he was content to wait and see where Jojo was leading.

"She's a lot tougher than she looks." He agreed.

"Meaner too, fer such a lil thing."

"You have no idea, buddy." Sam replied.

"Oh I'm pretty sure I do, in the last two years she's helped me out a few times... She's helped a lotta people out."

"Yeah?" Sam's interest was piqued. He knew very little about what Fiona got up to when she wasn't hanging out at the loft.

"Fer the last year I've been in a kinda running battle with another gun runner. It all started when he stole a coupla my customers, so I helped myself to a few of his shipments, you get the idea?"

Sam nodded, it certainly explained all the hardware stashed aboard the yacht.

"Anyhow six months ago this guy, Gardeno, decides to up the ante and he hires himself some crazy merc. I tell ya the guy was a real bad ass, he killed a couple of my men and emptied my main warehouse; I thought I was going to lose everything." He paused, to take a long deep drink. "Then, Fiona Glenanne stepped in. She offered to sort out my problem. It turned out one of the men that died had been a close friend of hers and wow, that girl is a firecracker when she's pissed, I tell ya, Gardeno's merc never stood a chance."

"That's our Fi." Sam lifted his beer in a toast.

"She got rid of the merc, an' over the next coupla weeks blew up Gardeno's weapons depot an' took out one of his boat sheds an' all she asked for was an introduction to a couple of big time Miami arms dealers. She said she was looking for information on a rifle not normally found in the US."

"She's a good friend, 'specially if you give her somethin' to blow up." Sam reached for another beer.

_The Draganov, she must have been hunting for the importer for Mikey._ He took a long sip from his fresh bottle, wondering what else Fiona had done to help Michael in his search for the people who burned him.

"Yeah, that girl loves her explosives. Anyhow when she had Billy call me up an' say she needed help I just dropped what I was doin' and came straight over."

"We're very grateful."

"An' so you should be, when that drone flew over and took out that house an' then came at us... Well I admit fer a little while I thought about throwing yer all over the side."

"Thanks for the change of heart, it woulda been a long swim – especially for Mikey."

"Yeah it woulda been... I've heard all the rumors goin' around about the firecracker's boyfriend, Fi ain't the only one on board who likes things going boom is she?"

"Mike has a certain way of doin' things... But he's a good friend too."

"A good friend who has a lotta powerful enemies... You really think word won't get out he's in a Mexican hospital? A mysterious gringo, hallucinating an' all, – – people will talk."

"One of us will stay with him all the time to make sure he doesn't go loco. Besides right now Mexico is probably safer for him than Miami. At least it'll cut down on the amount of people we have to look out for."

They were silent for a while, drinking beer, watching the fishing lines and occasionally staring up at the cloudless sky. Jojo smoked a second cigarette, and Sam finished his fourth beer.

"Cancun, isn't the best place to go. They might let Mike through on a medical emergency but they'd hold the rest of yer back, an' if they think your loaded they'll all have their hands out."

Sam shifted in his chair, but remained silent; Jojo seemed to be reaching a point.

"Fi, doesn't know the location of my home base. Not many people do. In my line of work it pays to keep the business and the family separate."

Jojo paused yet again, the flight of a bird high up in the sky appeared to hold his attention. Sam, concentrated on the man's features reading the indecision on his face. Finally, Jojo spoke.

"I've gotta place on Isla Mujeres, my family's been there for years so me coming in won't attract _official attention _if you get my meaning. There's also a doctor I've done a coupla favors for who'll keep quiet, an' if things go sideways there's a Naval base with a hospital, but I'm guessing that would be a last resort?"

Until that moment Sam hadn't realized how worried he had been about how they were going to get Michael safely from the Yacht to a clinic. Hearing that they now had somewhere safe to take his best friend had lifted a massive weight off his shoulders.

"Jeez Jojo that would be great, I don't know what to say. But thanks man."

"Good, I've already told Juan to take us home." He smiled reaching for his fishing rod which had begun to bow. "Let's see what we're having for dinner."

It was a tough three quarters of an hour, with Jojo fighting with the fish on the end of his line while Sam urged him on and gave out advice. Several of the crew came over to watch as their boss eventually landed a five hundred pound, seven foot long Blue Marlin.

**()()**

At the first yell and whoop from the men outside, Fiona stiffened and dropped the aged copy of Guns and Ammo she had been flicking through. Just as her feet hit the floor and her fingers closed around the handle of her gun she realized what was happening.

"I swear to god, if they keep this up I'm going to shoot one of them."

With an angry huff she made her gun safe and sat back on the bed resting her head on the pillows she had piled up against the headboard. Beside her Michael stirred restlessly, a whimper escaping from behind the oxygen mask.

"Shhh." She took hold of his hand, giving it a light squeeze. "You're having a bad dream."

She had been pleased when Billy had agreed to them moving Michael off the floor and on to the bed, she had hoped it meant he was getting better, and when the medic had turned down the flow of oxygen she had become even more hopeful.

But then Billy Clemens had hit her with the facts, he had turned the oxygen down to a lower setting because if he left it at the level Michael _really _required the two cannisters Jojo had on board would barely last a day. Even cutting back, the supply would probably run out before they reached land. Then he had brought up the other piece of bad news, when he had thrown Michael to the floor the IV catheter placed in his foot had been pulled out and that had been the last of Billy's supply of IV needles. So from now until they reached Mexico they were going to have to make Michael drink.

There was more shouting from outside, and another faint whimper from Michael followed by his muscles twitching in response to to all the noise. It was this twitching and jerking of his limbs that scared her the most. It seemed that the weaker he got the more sensitive his hearing became, and any sudden noise could set off a seizure.

Shifting around she stared at his face, his eyes were moving rapidly under the lids and his features were twisted in a scowl. Tell tale signs that he was trapped in the middle of another nightmare. She stroked her hand over his brow in an attempt to chase away the sadistic interrogation specialist she was sure was still haunting his dreams.

"Michael." She slid down in the bed until her face was level with his. "Michael, it's just a dream wake up."

"Le' m' 'lone." Came the muttered reply, as he remained trapped in his nightmare. "Jus' le' me."

"Wake up Michael, it's not real." She ran her fingers along his arm, hating the feel of dry almost lifeless skin and bone.

Unable to hold back she blinked away a tear. A memory flashed into her mind of the night before he had been taken by Markov. She remembered how late in the night he had pulled her into his arms, cocooning her tightly against his strong firm chest. The warmth and power emanating from his body had made her feel safe and loved. She remembered the feel of the outline of his biceps as she had run her hands down his arms, while he had laid claim to her mouth in a hot demanding kiss.

"Fi – Fi-o-na, don't, - go."

Michael's muffled plea pulled her out of her day dream.

"I'm here, you have to wake up now." While her mind had been full of pleasant reminders of what they had together; Michael was still trapped in his nightmare.

When he refused to do no more than mumble and complain she had to resist the urge to slap him awake or shout, he was too fragile for the first and too noise sensitive for the second.

So instead she stroked his cheek, and softly kissed his brow. "Time to wake up." She whispered into his ear.

As she spoke his eyes fluttered open and he stared straight at her but she could tell he didn't recognize her, not at first anyway.

"Shhh, it's alright I'm here we're safe." She coaxed him to remember.

Confusion spread over his face as he tried to work out what was happening. His dream world clashing with reality. Without thinking about what she doing Fiona lifted the oxygen mask and pressed a light tender kiss to his lips.

"Fiona?" He questioned, his tongue flickering out as if to taste where she had touched.

"That's right," she smiled replacing the mask while her finger tips played through his hair.

"Not real, he tol' me, doc, tol' me I made us up." His voice was little more than a whisper.

"He was lying." Fiona told him bluntly. It sickened her that Markov had done so much damage in such a short space of time.

Michael expression clouded, his eyes losing focus as he started to drift back off to sleep. "How, be sure?"

"You can be sure because it's _me_ telling you." She touched her lips lightly to his forehead. "Now you have to stay awake and drink something or you're going to get worse."

"Please, Fi, I jus' wanna sleep." He whined closing his eyes.

"No... Come on Michael you can do this this. Let's get you sat up a bit and then you can have a drink. It will make you feel better."

With very little help from Michael, Fiona managed to get a couple of extra pillows under his head and shoulders. Once she was satisfied, he was going to be able to drink without choking and that he was at least going to try to stay awake. She swung her legs off the bed and got to her feet to collect one of the pouches of sports drink Jojo had left for them. Piercing the pouch with a straw she returned to the bed.

Sitting down she carefully slipped the straw through one of the holes in the mask and guided it into his mouth.

"Just a couple of small sips." she encouraged.

Michael sucked on the straw barely taking in any of the sweet tasting fluid before he started to gag and cough, weakly pushing her away he tried to collapse onto his side. She wouldn't let him go, tightening her hold on his arm Fiona pulled him back upright.

"Just a bit more and I'll let you go back to sleep." She coaxed, placing the straw back between his lips.

"N'more." He groaned, turning his head away. "Leave me 'lone."

Doing her best to hide her frustration Fiona shifted closer tenderly cupping his cheek she brought his head round to face her. He wore a sulky expression, his forehead creased in a stubborn frown.

"You have to drink, Michael... I need you to get better, so I can kick your ass."

Michael's expression changed to one of mild confusion. "Kick m' ass? Why, wha' – I – do?"

"You went off alone after we all told you you needed to have somebody to watch your back."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"I don't want an apology," she kissed his shoulder. "I want you to drink."

Fiona could see he was tiring, a quick glance at the oxy meter on his finger told her his oxygen levels were falling again and his heart was racing.

"One more little drink and you can go back to sleep." She bargained, watching as he took another half-hearted swallow.

Placing the pouch on the bedside table Fiona hid her disappointment at how little he had drank, turning back to Michael she lifted the mask so she could gently wiped her thumb over his lips before moving it back into place.

"Wha' the matter?"

She was surprised when Michael managed to moved his hand clumsily onto hers. He was looking at her through unfocussed eyes, but somehow he had picked up on her concern.

"Wha' matter?" He slurred out his demand to know what was wrong.

"It's nothing for you to worry about." She carefully removed the pillows that propped him up and eased him back down flat on the bed. "Go back to sleep now and rest."

When he lay staring up at her she leaned over him and placed a gentle kiss on each of his eyelids. "Go to sleep Michael, you'll feel better when you wake up."

She was thankful when his eyes remained closed and his breathing began to even out as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

Fiona sat back drawing her knees up to her chest she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her head on her knees. Back at the beach house when she had been running on adrenaline it had all seemed so clear. Going to Mexico, a chance to rest and recuperate where nobody knew who they were had seemed like the perfect plan. A boat ride, and then a stay in some clinic, yes they would have had to got hold of some cash to pay the doctors to keep quiet. But getting money was never a problem, if a phone call to Barry didn't work, she could have gone back to her criminal roots and found some little bank to rob.

All that had become nothing more than a dream. Michael's heart had stopped, he had died in front of her and if Billy hadn't been there he wouldn't have come back. There was no way he would survive a landing in some smuggler's cove, the only chance was to dock at a legitimate port and declare an emergency. Michael would get rushed through, and she would have to find a way to through with Sam.

She sniffed and a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth, maybe Mr Charles Finley could suffer another injury. Nothing too serious but enough for them to be allowed to accompany Michael. Her smile grew even wider. _Maybe the delightful Charlotte Finley could drop_ _some dive weights onto the thick skull of her dullard of a husband._

Fiona slowly relaxed back on the bed, distracting herself by thinking of ways to injure Sam; all in the aid to get them safely ashore, of course.

**()()**

With the giant fish caught and on it's way to the galley to be turned into steaks, Sam leaned against the stern with his sixth bottle in his hand. Next to him Jojo had his back to the safety rail his hands cupped around the celebratory cigar he was trying to light.

"So, when we get home I guess you're gonna want to borrow my beach caster." Jojo looked across at Sam.

"Well if you're offering," Sam answered casually, a soft easy smile lighting up his face. "It would certainly make a good cover for keeping watch."

"Uh-huh, well I'm gonna put a call through to Trini, an let her know to expect some guests." Jojo pushed himself upright.

"Yeah, and I should go let Fi know you've sorted out our get Mikey somewhere safe problem." Sam limped slowly in the direction of the cabins.

He opened the door to Michael's room quietly, and stood in the door way with a smile on his face. He eye'd the couple sleeping side by side, Michael, under the covers Fiona laying on top their fingers entwined and her body snuggled up close to his side. He watched them just long enough to be satisfied Michael was breathing easily then backed out and closed the door.

The news could wait until Fiona woke up, after all it was going to be at least another day before they reached Isla Mujeres, an island just off the Mexican coast. Until then there was nothing much for them to do other than watch over their friend. Moving slowly back onto the deck, Sam was surprised to find Jojo coming towards him.

"Where's Fiona?" He asked looking around Sam.

"Sleeping," Sam replied, edging the yacht captain backwards. "They both are, what's up?"

"I just spoke to my ol' lady Trini, she'd heard from Luca he's the one who took Fi's car back to Miami."

"Well?"

"He went to leave her car outside that nightclub, but he said the place was being watched. Guys in suits. So he took off but couldn't lose them. He had to abandon the car in the end an' escape on foot."

Sam raked his fingers through his hair. "They let him go?"

"They couldn't catch him, but he says they were all over Fi's ride... Oh, an' that house that got blown up, it was declared a gas explosion. The bodies found inside couldn't be identified, so the cops are saying they was probably vagrants or illegals hiding out from the storm."

"Damn!" Sam leaned back against the wall. "Well, I suppose as long as Luca got away we're still safe. Nothing much has changed except Fi's gonna be pissed about her car."

"An' you now know whoever you're runnin' from is still lookin' fer you."

"Yeah, that too." Sam slumped even further against the wall.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thank you for all your reviews and comments I appreciate them all, even though I rarely get a chance to reply personally.  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twenty**

"_Why would Fiona Glenanne consider you a friend? Please explain it to me." Doctor Vincent paced around the bed. "She was your asset, yes? Your lover? Yet you willingly deceived her, your actions got her friends arrested or killed and then, when you had finished using her, you snuck away in the middle of the night. Why, when you nearly destroyed her life, would she want to help you?" The doctor stopped his pacing and stared down at him._

"_You're wrong...It was my job."_

"_Yes, a job. That's all she was to you. Just think about it, Michael, and you will see what you believe happened is absurd." He patted the folder he held in his hand. "I showed you her Interpol file. She was captured by MI5. She stood trial for her crimes. I even let you read the transcripts and she is now rotting away in a high security hospital. There wasn't a woman's prison they thought could hold her."_

Michael woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes going wide as he stared about the room. Something had awoken him, but the room was empty. He was alone. That's when it hit him and it made him feel sick to the stomach. He had fallen asleep and they had moved him again. The last thing he remembered was a cool light room with tiles on the walls. He had been laying on the floor.

_Her fingers trailed softly down his cheek, her eyes shone bright and fierce. "I have to go now." She looked back one final time and he saw regret etched into the lines of her face and it broke his heart. "This is going to be over soon, Michael. All you have to do is hang on a little while longer." _

Now he was lying on a large comfy bed, wrapped in soft linen sheets. A faint humming noise and a slight pitch and sway told him he had to be on a boat. Why was he on a boat?

Sweat broke out on his brow, as he tried to concentrate on what could have possibly happened. Closing his eyes, he attempted to calm his breathing and that's when it hit, a vivid flashback of Fiona and Sam Axe at his side, the smell of gun smoke and exploded C4 filling his nostrils.

_"Mikey, you've gotta listen to me. You've been drugged and interrogated." It was Sam Axe, he recognized the voice and could feel Sam's fingers digging into his jaw forcing him to listen. _

"_Sam Axe is a washed up drunk spending his time on the beach cruising for rich women. You haven't seen each other for years. Why would Sam Axe want to help you? You weren't there for him when he needed you."_

_"Stay here, Michael, stay here with me." Fiona replaced Dr Vincent she loomed over him, her hair brushing against his face. He reveled in her touch, her scent and the warmth of her body against his. He could feel her essence surrounding him and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever. _

_But he had to make her go as fear began to overwhelm him. If Vincent saw her, he would take her back to England. "You have to go. Vincent, Doctor Vin – " he urged her to leave._

_"He's gone, Michael, killed by his own side. He can't hurt you anymore." She smiled at him that sweet smile she wore when she blew something up and a small part of him began to believe she was telling him the truth._

_"It's ok, buddy. All you have to do is sit still and let me and Fi handle it. But we can't do it if you're gonna fight us." _

"_I won't." He promised them he would stay, that he believed them._

_"You promise to stay? You don't move until one of us come and get you." _

"_Not move," he agreed, he promised, he lied._

With a gasp, he pulled himself back. It was all his fault. He had fallen asleep and Vincent had moved him. He had to find them, and quickly, because if Vincent found her first- He gulped and swallowed thickly. He wouldn't think about that. He had just got her back, he couldn't lose her again.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to help steady his shattered nerves, he closed his eyes. If he wanted to get free, he had to concentrate. With a sudden surge of strength, he rolled on to his side and managed to sit up on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. Ripping away the oxygen mask, he threw it onto the floor and then clutched at the bed sheets as he fought back a rising wave of nausea that left his head spinning and his stomach churning.

Taking one more deep ragged breath, Michael gritted his teeth and lurched upright. He stood swaying, the room tilting first one way and then the other. With a look of grim determination, he took one faltering step forward before his legs gave way and he hit the floor face down, his body locked in spasms as another seizure took hold. He lay helplessly as bloody saliva bubbled out from between his clenched teeth.

"_Please, Michael, we have been through this so many times. Fiona is not here. Do you remember we asked your mother about Ms Glenanne, and Sam Axe? She said she didn't know either of these people you insist have been your closest friends of the last two years. You trust your mother, don't you?"_

"_That – that woman isn't my mom."_

"_Yes, she is, Michael, and I have to say you're being very hard on that poor dear woman. She has visited you every week since you joined us. Now, why not humor me and just take a look at things from our point of view. We believe you were the victim of a chemical attack in Algeria and it affected your mind. So let me help you get better and tell me - -"_

_It didn't matter what he said or how much he fought, Doctor Vincent kept talking to him in that same damn patronizing tone. If he argued back, he was fed more drugs. If he fought, they tied him down. It was always the same story: he had killed five men in a Nigerian hotel, an extraction team had grabbed him and brought him back home. He was sick, he needed help. They were all there to help him get better... but only if he talked. _

He came around slowly, coughing and choking as his mouth filled up with the coppery taste of blood. A triumphant smile was etched onto his face. He had gotten away again. Every bone, every muscle, every nerve ending hurt, but he had won.

"_Michael!"_

_They were coming for him!_

As panic began to course through his body, strong fingers dug into his shoulder. Using what little strength he had left, he kicked out against his assailant. But his desperate attempt to escape failed as his attacker easily pulled him over onto his back.

"Michael! What are you doing? It's me."

It sounded like Fiona. A soft hand brushed against his cheek and then long slender fingers combed through his hair. He just wished he could see her clearly.

"Michael, it's alright, Sam's gone to get Billy. Just lay still."

Unable to stay awake any longer, he went limp in her arms. His last thought as everything went black was that he hoped she would still be there when he woke up.

**()()**

"Hey! Clemens get your ass outta bed an' open up. Michael's on the floor an' he's having another fit."

Billy Clemens groaned and sat up rubbing at his eyes. More thuds of a fist hammering against his door caused him to grimace. Too much Mexican beer and a day lounging in the sun had left him hung over.

"C'mon, Billy, or do I have to come in there an' drag your drunken - -" Sam Axe's voice was getting louder and more angry.

"I'm comin'! Jeez," Billy grumbled. Staggering out of bed, he crossed the room to open the door before the man on the other side broke it down.

"C'mon, doc," Sam growled, as soon as the door opened a crack. Before Billy had time to react, Sam had taken hold of his arm and dragged him across to the room on the opposite side of the hall. "Mikey needs ya."

"Hey! I can walk, dammit." He jerked free of Sam's grip and almost fell through the door into the large bedroom suite.

Coming to a stop, he blinked rapidly as he scanned the dark interior; Michael Westen was on the floor lying lifelessly in Fiona Glenanne's arms. Nearby was a pool of bloody vomit and when he raised his eyes to the bed, he noticed the scrunched up sheets and kicked off bed covers. Finally he turned his gaze first to Fiona Glenanne and then to Sam Axe, who had followed him into the room.

"So how did he get out of bed? I thought you were _both _watching him," Billy growled out the words as he rapidly crossed the room. He had caught the faint hiss of precious enriched oxygen escaping through the abandoned mask lying next to the bed. Checking the oxygen cylinder, he leaned down to twist the cap shut.

"This," he gestured to the cylinder. "In case you've forgotten is the last of the oxygen until we reach Isla Mujeres. I mean you do remember me tellin' you I'm running out of all my supplies? And that's why I said that he wasn't to be left alone."

"Sam was supposed to -" The tiny auburn haired gunrunner aimed a narrowed eyed stare across the room at the older man.

"I was just outside the door – I didn't want to risk waking him and you're the one with a small blad– –" The words dried up in his throat when he caught the look of bloody murder in Fiona's eyes.

"Two minutes, Sam," she hissed at him. "You couldn't wait for -"

"Hey, lady, I was literally just on the other side -" Sam snapped back, his temper rising to match that of the fiery Irishwoman.

"_Quiet!_" Billy glared first at Sam and then at Fiona before turning his attention back to his patient. "Just shut up while I see what damage has been done."

Silence reigned as the medic bent his head down to concentrate on Michael limp form. After what felt like ages for the two people watching him, Billy looked up. "Well, I think we've been lucky and his attempt to go for a walk hasn't done him any more harm, so let's get him back on the bed."

"No harm?" Fiona scowled menacingly at the medic.

"As far as I can tell, he's no worse than the last time I checked him, except for the bump on his head," Billy replied. Slowly getting to his feet, he looked over to the bed and then at Sam remembering the man's bruised ribs and injured leg. "You want to get one of the crew to help me move him?"

"I'll do it," Fiona answered softly. "I'll help you. He's so light now we can carry him between us."

Once they had Michael back in bed and covered up, Billy Clemens picked up the oxygen mask passing the clear molded plastic item from one hand to the other. He stood deep in thought, weighing up the risks of what he was thinking. Finally, he reached a decision.

"There's just a couple of hours supply left in this cylinder. I'd like to try to save it until we have to move him again. But it means one of you _must_ be with him _at all times_. You can't leave him alone at all. If his levels drop too low, he'll need it back on."

"We won't leave him again," Fiona promised her eyes fixed firmly back on Michael's sleeping features.

"Good," Billy sighed. He was tired and wanted to get back to his bed. He really was in no state to deal with all the drama that seemed to follow the trio wherever they went. "Look, it's gonna be at least another seven maybe eight hours before we reach Jojo's. If you're serious about keeping your friend alive, no more guns, explosions or any excitement at all. Do you think you can manage that?"

Sam held up a hand. "Er, about that... Jojo sent word, there's a storm due to hit Isla Mujeres sometime in the early afternoon. He said he could either open up the engines and try to reach home before it hits or we could wait it out." He took a deep breath. "I told him to go for it."

"Great." The medic huffed with a look of resignation on his face.

Fiona's eyes were wide. "You should have - -"

"Don't -" Sam warned, "just don't – okay? I know what you're thinking, but this isn't some little fishing boat. It's got stabilizers that will help keep the ride steady." He turned to Billy. "An' you just said no more excitement and being stuck at sea during a storm would be pretty damn exciting."

Thankfully whatever Fiona had been about to say was going to remain a mystery because on hearing the boat wasn't going to start being thrown about, she had relaxed back, her fingers entwining with Michael's. So Sam turned his gaze to the medic.

Billy pulled his dreadlocks back off his face and arched his back as he stretched. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. If the ride stays smooth, it won't make any difference. But if we get hit by the bad weather..." He shrugged miserably. "So I'm going back to bed, call me when the excitement starts."

Fiona looked up from where she was sat on the bed watching over Michael. She gestured at the pool of vomit still on the floor. "What about the blood?"

"He bit his tongue, that's all; either from when he fell or when he seized. But here's something else for you to think about before you leave him alone again. Every time he has one of these seizures, it increases the risk of brain damage. So just keep him in bed and quiet."

Having made his point, Billy left Sam and Fiona to watch over their friend while he returned to his room and with a groan fell face down onto his bed. As he lay there slowly drifting back off to sleep, for maybe the hundredth time in the last five days, he wished he had pretended to be out when Fiona Glenanne had knocked on his front door.

**()()**

After cleaning up mess Michael had made on the floor, Fiona made herself comfortable on the bed. Sitting propped up against the headboard, she held one of Michael's hands in her own. Sam slumped down on a chair next the bed and after running his hands through his hair he leaned back and tried to explain why he had left the room.

"I only stepped outside, cuz Jojo sent one of the crew with that message, I wouldn't have gone anywhere until you finished powdering your - - whatever." He made a face.

Fiona sighed, "I suppose I better go talk to Jojo. See if he knows how bad it's going to get."

"No," Sam wearily got back to his feet. "I'll go. You keep Mikey company."

"Remind Jojo about our deal. If we all drown he'll never get hold of all those lovely guns I promised him."

Sam paused. "Fi, that deal you're talkin' about, most people would consider it piracy. Do have any idea what sort of time that would get you if - -"

"Piracy against an arms dealer?" she scoffed. "Please, Sam. John Beck came to Miami and took over one of the most profitable routes and he hurt a lot of people when he did it. This is just a bit of payback. He's going to lose one tiny little shipment. He probably won't even notice."

He shook his head knowing full well the only person who could talk her out of committing a dangerous criminal act at sea was lying unconscious. "Fine, I'll remind him about stealing some scary guy's guns."

"Do that and Sam," She gave him a wide eyed innocent smile. "Can you fetch me a cup of tea please – and maybe a slice of toast."

Sam didn't bother with a reply, at least not one she could hear. With Sam gone from the room, Fiona turned her full attention back to Michael her smile growing even wider when she saw his eyes were open.

"Hey," she whispered. "How long have you been awake?"

He stared up at her, his eyes skimming over her face and body, a small smile curving the corners of his lips. "You found me." His voice was faint, barely more than a whisper.

"Yes, we found you. You're safe now," she agreed.

"I'm sorry I left you." He swallowed. "I didn't want to go."

"I know, but we got you back."

He clutched at her hand. "They – made me leave."

She could see how important it was to him that she believed him. Squeezing his hand between hers, she leaned in closer. "It doesn't matter they're all gone, Michael. You're safe," she tried to reassure him.

"I fought them – I – knew – " He was tiring, each breath getting shorter and more forced, his eyes were losing focus as he struggled to stay awake.

"Shhh, you're safe. We won, Michael."

"Good." His eyes slid shut and then opened again. "Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere, Michael, I promise. Now get some rest."

**()()**

Fiona only realized she had fallen asleep when the door to the room opened and Sam stepped inside balancing a tray in one hand. "Wakey, wakey sleepy head." He grinned as Fiona stretched and yawned.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Six. The sun's coming up and Jojo says we're just a couple of hours out. Whoa!" The last part came as the yacht suddenly seemed to rapidly drop several feet and then rise up again. "Must be getting into that bad weather." He carefully lowered the tray onto the table. "You better come grab some of this before it ends up all over the floor."

When the yacht first dropped and then rose up again, Fiona had found herself stuck staring at Michael. With her heart pounding in her chest, she remained frozen when the yacht repeated the action a second time. All the while she waited with baited breath as Michael remained asleep.

"If that first drop didn't wake him, I think you're safe to move, Fi."

Sam's quiet observation broke the spell and she began to breathe again. The older man was right. Michael was fine, at least for now.

"C'mon Fi, it took Jojo's cook ages to find that teabag. There was just one right at the back of a cupboard. He washed off most of the - - Hey, lady, no throwing!" Sam ducked the pillow that sailed through the air.

Joining him at the table, Fiona eyed the steaming mug of milky tea suspiciously before picking it up. Cupping between her hands, she sniffed it and then took a tiny sip. With an appreciative sigh, she peered at him over the top of the mug.

"Well, even if it was made with an old half rotten teabag, it's better than the swill you usually make me." she told him, before taking a longer drink and sliding onto a chair.

Picking up a slice of buttered toast, she asked. "So what did Jojo have to say?"

"Not a lot. He was too busy steering the boat and watching the radar. It was pitch black out there. "One thing he did say was it'll get worse the closer we get to land."

A groan, followed by a rustling of the bed covers, halted conversation as they looked over to the bed where Michael was staring upwards at the swaying light shade over his head with wide eyes and a confused expression.

Fiona was up in a flash darting to the bedside, one hand gently taking hold of his while the other coaxed him to look at her rather than the swinging light shade. "Just try to relax, Michael, it'll be over soon."

He risked a quick glance at her before turning back to stare at the ceiling. "I'm gonna be sick," he announced in a strangled whisper.

"I'll get a bowl. Hang on, buddy." Sam rushed as fast as he could on an injured leg, returning just time as Michael began to be sick. Leaving Fiona to cope with Michael, Sam backed away. "I'll go let Billy know we're going to need him."

**()()**

An hour later, the yachts speed slowed as the waves got bigger and rain began to lash down on them. Michael, with nothing in his stomach to throw up, was lying on his side, his head resting in Fiona's lap as she tried her best to soothe and calm him. Even with what was left of Billy's oxygen supplies, Michael was fading.

"Can't you give him something?" Sam demanded of Billy Clemens who was trying his best to control his own seasickness.

"I've got nothing to give him, not safely, anyway. Once we're off this boat, I can treat him. I sent Jojo's old lady a list of what I needed. He can last the rest of the journey; he's got this far."

"There must be something you can do," Fiona added. Michael had finally stopped fighting her but somehow as he lay limp and unresponsive, it was worse.

"I'd rather not, at least not until we're off this damn boat." His complexion suddenly turned a nasty shade of green and he rushed for the en-suite.

"I'm gonna find out how long 'til we tie up," Sam spoke grimly as he got to his feet and then another thought hit. "That's _if _we can tie up."

Sam had been gone for just a few minutes when Fiona felt Michael's fingers begin to twitch. He looked up at her, his eyes glassy and unfocused. "Hey," she smiled down at him, her fingers combing through his tangled hair.

The smile faded as instead of returning her greeting, his eyes rolled back leaving only the whites showing and his body arched and began to shake uncontrollably.

"_BILLY! Get back in here now!" _Fiona cried out as she fought desperately to stop Michael's flailing body falling off the bed.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twenty One**

She had missed the first signs of what was to come because when Michael's fingers began to twitch in her hand, lightly scratching against her palm, she was too busy staring into his blue eyes waiting for a sign of recognition as he returned her gaze. But instead of focusing, the cobalt colored orbs had remained glassy, right up to the moment before they rolled back leaving only bloodshot whites, and by then it was too late to do anything other than hold onto him as his body began to spasm.

"_Billy! Get back in here now!_" Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strained and cracked, more like a banshee wail over the noise of the storm outside.

Billy appeared at the bathroom door staring out with wild eyes at the sight of Fiona Glenanne struggling to hold Michael Westen down on the bed as his limbs thrashed about uncontrollably. By the time Billy had reached her side, the seizure had come to the end and Westen lay motionless.

Cradling Michael's head in her lap, Fiona gently stroked her fingers through his tangled and sweat covered hair. Her own breathing was unsteady and ragged and tears streaked her cheeks as she recovered from witnessing the violent convulsions her lover had just suffered. Tenderly she traced the outline of his jaw while monitoring the fluttering rise and fall of his emaciated chest and listened to harsh strained breaths coming from behind the oxygen mask.

Standing by the table with his head bowed, Billy Clemens was crumbling under the pressure. He stared at his meager medical supplies, his lips moving silently as he tried to recall procedures and treatments he hadn't used in over a decade. But his memory was foggy. Years of self medication and only practicing rudimentary surgery on South Florida's criminal underworld had dulled his skills.

With a scowl and a muttered curse aimed at himself, Billy turned away from the table and began to pace. With his head bowed he circled the table, occasionally sending furtive glances towards his patient. It amazed him that the man was still alive; it was no thanks to his own skills.

"_Billy." _

He was so wrapped up in his own self hatred that he didn't hear Fiona calling to him.

"Billy, you have to do something," she called out in a louder tone.

He paused to stare at her. "What?" he blurted. "What do you want me to do? He's too weak now, nothing I've got," he took a breath, before continuing in a slightly calmer tone. "The seizures have worn him out. I could give him a shot of epinephrine. It might help to keep him going, but it could also set off another seizure."

"Then give him something to stop the seizures. You did it before," Fiona sniffed.

He shook his head. "You don't understand."

He dismissed her request and returned to his pacing, staggering when the yacht began to pitch and roll yet again. "The anticonvulsants I've got could suppress his breathing and the little bit of oxygen I've got left he's using up right now. I don't even know what damage has already been done to his brain, heart – I'm sorry but – . Look, just let me think about it."

Fiona felt her temper begin to rise at his refusal to act. This wasn't how she did things; hesitation in a gunfight or a moment of indecision when working with explosives got you killed. Billy Clemens' hesitation was going to kill Michael. Carefully moving out from under her lover, she set his head gently down on the pillow and got slowly to her feet.

Then, in one fluid move, she crossed the room and pounced. Taking hold of Billy by wrapping one slender hand around his throat, she drove him backwards until his shoulders hit the wall. Then she drew back her free hand and delivered a hard stinging slap to his left cheek.

"Stop it!" she ordered her voice full of anger, as she delivered another even harder backhanded slap to his right cheek. "Stop whining and do _something._"

Billy put his hand to his right cheek. The blows had set his ears ringing, but had also helped to clear his head. He gulped and looked at Michael, who was still fighting to stay alive.

"I -" The word came out strangled as her fingers were still digging into his throat. "Please -"

Letting go of the medic's throat, Fiona stepped back. She ran her hands through her hair and let out a long sigh. "He's not going to die," she stated firmly. "_We're _not going to let that happen."

Billy held up a hand as if warding her off. "His body's shutting down. The seizures have worn him out. Anything I give him is not -" He stopped as she closed in on him again.

"You already said that and you also said you could give him something to keep him going."

"Epinephrine, I could give him a shot of epinephrine. But it's not that simple. I -"

"Yes, it is. You keep him alive." Fiona was not going to take no for answer. "If he's alive, we can sort out the rest later. Help him." She took hold of his arm and dragged him back to the table.

Standing over him, she watched impatiently as he loaded a syringe with shaking hands before walking over to the bed where Michael lay.

Fiona sat on the edge of the bed on the other side.

"What can I do?" she asked, much calmer now Michael was getting some help.

Billy held up the syringe. "I want you to understand if I give him this it could set off more seizures and kill him."

"You said he was dying anyway. You're giving him a chance." She closed her eyes for a moment, silently reciting a prayer from her childhood.

Against his better judgment, Billy slipped the needle into Michael's arm and depressed the plunger. Seconds later Michael took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Then he relaxed and remained quiet, his breathing settling down.

"See," Fiona smiled. "He's fine."

"No, he isn't," Billy contradicted.

Straightening up he moved away from the bed, making his way back over to the table. He was fairly certain that Westen was going to start convulsing soon. If not, he would simply slip away. Either way, it was a foregone conclusion. For the first time in an age, Billy Clemens found himself angry about not being able to do this job properly. If he knew what had been done to Michael Westen, he might have had some idea on how to help him.

**()()**

It was while Billy was working through his self loathing and Fiona was concentrating all her attention on Michael that the door opened and Sam stepped into the room, his eyes darting about as he took in Fiona's tear streaked features and the faded hand prints still visible on Billy's cheeks.

"What did I miss?" he asked suspiciously, casting his gaze to Michael who looked as if he was in a deep sleep.

"Nothing," Fiona answered quickly, doing her best to sound and look unconcerned. "Did Jojo say how long 'til we dock?"

"We're getting close," Sam answered. "He told me to get outta the way, and said we should get Mikey ready to transfer off the boat." Moving further into the room, he braced his feet as the boat continued to rock and crossed his arms over his chest. "So, I'll ask again, what happened? And don't give me any more crap about everything being fine."

"He had another fit," Fiona confessed. "But Billy has given him something and he's fine now." Her hard eyed stare dared him to contradict her.

Sam sighed. It was obvious that neither Michael nor Fiona were fine. He turned to the medic looking for some clue to what was really going on, but the man just shrugged his shoulders and dropped his head down as he continued to pack away his supplies.

"O-kay then." He let the matter drop, trusting that Fiona had Michael's best interests at heart. "It's pretty bad out there. Let's get Mikey wrapped up and strapped onto the stretcher."

Billy opened his mouth as if he was about to make some comment but then thought better of it. Instead he walked over to the closet and collected the stretcher they had used to get Michael onto the yacht and several thick blankets.

**()()**

The rumbling sound of the yacht's engines being thrown into reverse and the increase pitch and roll as Jojo began the tricky task of navigating the large boat through the narrow rock strewn entrance to his private harbor caused Michael to stir. His eyes fluttered open and a faint moan escaped from between his pale lips.

"Shhh," Fiona soothed, placing a kiss on his forehead.

Everybody in the cabin held their breath, as he briefly looked around at their worried faces. Then as Michael's eyes slowly slid shut and he remained still, they all began to breathe again.

"See. Nothing to worry about," Fiona smiled, trying to sound confident.

"Nooo, nothing to worry about at all," Billy shot back snidely as he tightened one of the wide nylon straps that were to hold Michael firmly in place for his transfer off the yacht.

**()()**

It seemed to take ages before the yacht stopped moving and they could hear men running about outside. The door of the cabin swung open and Jojo stepped inside.

"We're here," he announced. "You three need to get up on deck while I get my men to bring your friend along."

"I'll stay with Michael," Fiona announced firmly locking eyes with the boat's captain.

For a minute they stared at each other and then Jojo dropped his gaze first. "Okay, but you stay out of the damn way. Clemens, help Axe...Sorry, but yer gonna have to walk up a steep path and in this weather it'll be as slippery as hell. Trini is waiting at the top for you."

Sam and Billy were surprised when they stepped out on to the deck and into drizzling rain and a light gusting wind. Staring around in awe, Sam noted the high cliff walls that surrounded Jojo's harbor offered protection from the worst of the weather and, when he looked out towards the ocean, all he could see was a row of tall craggy rocks which guarded the entrance leaving only a narrow channel as a way in to the bay or back out to the open sea. He had to admit it was a perfect smugglers cove, completely private and, with the house on the cliff top, lookouts would be able to see for miles.

Stepping off the yacht, he gulped when he saw the path they had to follow to reach the house. Cut into the near vertical cliff walls were a series of steep steps and from where he stood he could make out the hand rail appeared to be nothing more than a thick length of rope.

"You up to that climb?" Billy asked.

"Yeah, not a problem," Sam bluffed as he started towards the steps.

By the time they reached the top, Sam had lost all his color and was doing his best to hide how much pain the climb had caused him. Out of the shelter of the cliff wall, they were also hit by the full force of the wind and rain. Limping heavily, Sam ducked his head down to continue towards the large tall wooden gates that led into Jojo's compound.

"Hey! Wait, I don't want you busting them stitches again," Billy shouted. Stepping forward, he slipped his shoulder under Sam's arm to help him the rest of the way to the house.

Passing through the wooden gates, they entered a large compound with neatly trimmed lawns edged with swaying palm trees which lined a wide gravel path leading to a sprawling single story L-shaped building made out of stone.

As they got nearer to the house, they noticed a tall dark skinned woman standing on the veranda with two small children clutching at her blue and white patterned skirt.

"Come on, get outta the rain," she called out, encouraging them to hurry along the path. As soon as Billy and Sam reached her, she urged them inside. "Get inside. There's some towels on a couch to get yourselves dry."

Before Sam or Billy could answer her one of the children, a girl of about seven, let out a joyous shriek. "Daddy!"

Both children let go of their mother's skirt and ran out into the rain, the little girl easily leaving her smaller brother behind as she raced to throw herself into Jojo's arms. Seconds later, the boy wrapped his arms around the captain's knees in a ferocious hug.

"Inside with ya, come on." Jojo scooped up both children and rushed inside, joining Sam and Billy. "My men are bringing your friend up now," he announced as he grabbed his wife around the waist, pulling her in for a kiss. "This is Trini. Trini, this is Sam Axe and Billy Clemens."

"Billy," Trini Delaney smiled her welcome. "Sam," she said and then turned to her husband. "You said Fiona Glenanne was coming?"

"She is," Jojo confirmed. "She's following her man up the trail. Did you get Billy's supplies?"

"Yes, everything is in the back room. Ria," she tapped the little girl on the shoulder. "Show our guests to their rooms."

"I wanna see Fiona," the girl pouted.

"You'll see her soon enough. Now go do what your mama tells ya," Jojo backed up his wife.

Sam was watching the scene with growing bewilderment. It seemed that Michael's psychotic little girlfriend was a bit of a celebrity in the Delaney household. As he followed behind the skinny little girl with waist length black hair, he wondered what Fiona could have done to warrant such adulation.

"Come with me," the little girl ordered in a sulky voice, as she led the way further into the house.

"So, Fiona – you really like her, huh?" Sam probed gently for answers.

"She saved J.J," Ria replied casually without even looking around.

"J.J?"

"My big brother J.J.," she puffed as if he should know who she was talking about. "A bad man came and took him away, but Fiona got him back for daddy." She stopped at a door, pushing it open to show a made up single bed, a wall lined with oxygen cylinders and a long table laid out with medical supplies.

While Billy went inside to prepare everything for Michael's arrival, Ria took hold of Sam's hand and gave it a tug. "I've gotta show you your room too, c'mon." She dragged him to the next door along the hall. "This one and that one." She pointed to the door opposite. "Can I go now?"

"Sure, tha -" Sam let the words fade as Ria sprinted back the way they had came.

Leaning against the wall, Sam stared thoughtfully after the departing figure.

"_I thought I was going to lose everything." _Jojo's words came back to Sam and the look in the captain's eyes when he had spoken them.

It struck him at that moment Fiona had been doing a lot more than just annoying him and playing mind games with Michael since her arrival in Miami and, against his better judgment, he found himself softening towards the ex terrorist.

With a sigh and a groan, he stood away from the wall and started to make his way back towards Michael's room. As he limped along the hall, a smile broke out on his face.

They were going to be staying with Jojo and his family for a while, so he would have plenty of time to learn a little bit about Fiona Glenanne, and what she got up to in her free time. He had never been interested before, but that was when he thought there was nothing more to her than gun running and manicure appointments. He already knew a little from what Jojo had told him, but now it appeared she not only blew up warehouses and committed acts of piracy, but she also rode to the rescue of small boys, too.

**()()**

Fiona watched Jojo climb up the steep slippery path with all the agility of a mountain goat. He had tried his best to get her to come with him, but there was no way she was leaving Michael alone with strangers. Peering past Jojo's fast moving figure, she caught a glimpse of Sam and Billy before they disappeared over the top.

Moments later, she was making the climb herself, following the men who were climbing without the aid of the rope hand rail as they held the stretcher between them. Keeping an eye on the men, Fiona was also praying Michael stayed asleep. He was tied down and wrapped in several layers of blankets and a sheet of plastic to keep him dry, but there was no telling what would happen if another seizure struck while they were in such a precarious position.

It seem to take forever to reach the top and then Fiona was wishing they were back below the line of the cliff top as the force of the tropical storm nearly knocked her off her feet. With her hair whipping about in the wind, she shielded her face with one hand and followed the men up to the house.

As soon as she reached the veranda she found herself enclosed in a thick fluffy towel and escorted inside by a curvaceous dark haired woman who greeted her like a long lost sister.

"Fiona, Ms Glenanne, I am so happy to finally meet you. Please come inside... Jojo, get Fiona a warm drink, or some brandy. Yes, some brandy, it'll warm you warm up. Jojo, the imported brandy the one you brought back from France." Trini Delaney was overwhelmed to finally get the chance to meet the woman who had returned her eldest boy to her and killed the man who came close to ruining her husband's life.

"Thank you," Fiona smiled up at the woman who she guessed was Jojo's wife. "But I have to go check on my - - Michael." She dried her hands and face on the towel, but her eyes were following the route of the stretcher and its precious cargo.

"Trin, let the girl be. She'll be here a while," Jojo spoke up and then he gestured towards the hallway which Michael had been taken down. "Go check on your fella and get dried off. I've got a couple of my guys bringing up your bags."

"Thank you." Fiona shot Jojo a grateful look and, after handing the towel back to Trini, she headed in the direction that Jojo had indicated.

She moved past the two crewmen who had carried Michael up from the yacht in the hall and rushed to the half open door. Coming to a stop, she stared about the room, impressed at how fast Billy had gotten to work. Michael was in the bed with the sheets pulled up to his chest and his arms lying outside the covers. A fresh oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, pads were stuck to his chest with wires leading to an array of monitors and it appeared that the medic had even managed to find a suitable vein to put in an I.V as Michael was now receiving the fluids he desperately needed.

"How is he?" she asked moving closer to the bed. She reached Michael's side, her hand straying of its own accord to his face to tenderly stroke his cheek before her fingers moved upwards to comb softly through his hair.

Billy continued to work on his patient, only briefly glancing over to her. "The ride up here didn't do him any extra harm. I've got him on fluids and I've also given him a light sedative to help keep him quiet. I want to get his fluids up before trying to get some food into him."

"What about – what about," she took a deep breath before trying to get the words out. "What about his heart and everything else you said could be wrong?"

Billy finished what he was doing and faced her. "He needs to be stronger before we worry about what else might be wrong. I'm gonna ask Jojo to get his doctor friend to run a whole load of blood tests. But for now I'll be happy if he just stays asleep."

Fiona nodded, her eyes dropping back to Michael's peaceful features. He was alive and was at least getting some proper care. "Fine," she dragged her gaze upwards. "Why don't you go get cleaned up. I'll sit with him."

Billy sighed. He recognized a dismissal when he heard one. "Just stay with him, watch his fluid intake and his breathing and don't do anything to wake him."

"I'm not a child, Billy." She glared at the medic.

She turned her attention back to Michael and the array of machines monitoring his condition, barely registering the door closing as Billy left the room. Lifting Michael's hand, she held it between hers and laid soft gossamer kisses across his knuckles.

"You've got to keep fighting, Michael." She leaned further over him, her mouth close to his ear. "Are you listening to me? Fight this, Michael, and come back to me."

"You don't have to worry about that, Fi. Mike's a fighter. He just needs time to build up his strength."

"What the h-!"

Startled by Sam's quietly spoken words, she looked around the room, spotting him sitting in the corner with his injured leg resting on a padded stool. She had been so wrapped in Michael that she had failed to notice the ex SEAL sitting in the corner.

"Hey, Fi, you must be slipping. I thought you were always aware of your surroundings. I mean with a career in -"

"Fi?"

That one whispered word froze the words in Sam's mouth and, while he struggled to his feet, Fiona turned to the source of the sound. She stared down at Michael, caressing his cheek.

"I'm here," she whispered back to him.

Michael gave her a weary smile. "Where?"

"A safe place; we're going to make you better."

She felt Sam presence at her side as Michael drifted back into unconsciousness. Very slowly, as if expecting to have to make a rapid retreat, she felt Sam's arm slip around her shoulders. For a brief moment and mostly out of habit, she resisted, but then the comforting touch was too much and she relaxed against his side.

"He's getting better," she stated with conviction.

Sam gave her a light squeeze and sighed.

"Yeah, Fi," he agreed. "He just needs some time to pull through."

The moment didn't last long before she pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed and he returned to his chair in the corner of the room. But in that moment they had both moved past all the old animosities and suspicion. Now while Fiona watched over Michael and Sam watched over them both, the two antagonists tried to come to terms with the changes taking place in their relationship.

Shifting around in his chair, Sam tried to find a comfortable position, his eyes never straying far from the couple on the bed. One thing he was sure of, if Michael pulled through, their little team was going to be a hell of a lot stronger than it was before.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

"_Fi?" That one small barely audible word spoken in a husky whisper had nearly stopped her heart. _

_For one tiny moment Michael had stared up at her and she had seen recognition in his eyes. Then he had smiled, just a slight curve of his lips, and she had nearly come undone. If Sam hadn't been standing at her side, she would have given in and collapsed._

_He had spoken one more word before his eyes had closed and he had fallen into a peaceful sleep._

"_He's getting better." When she said those words, she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince; herself, because the seizure Michael suffered before being taken off the yacht had been the worse one so far, or Sam as he continued to stand guard over his best friend even though he was nursing injuries of his own.._

_Then just when she thought she couldn't take any more, Sam had draped an arm around her shoulders and, god help her, but she had taken the comfort offered by his close presence._

"_He's going to get better," she repeated to herself before slowly pulling away from Sam and taking up her position at Michael's bedside._

**()()**

An hour had passed since Michael had called her name before falling back into a deep sleep. Throughout that entire time, he had remained completely motionless, not a flicker of an eyelid or a twitch of a finger to show he was still putting up a fight. If it hadn't been for the rapid yet shallow rise and fall of his chest, he would have appeared dead. During each one of those slow moving sixty minutes, Fiona had kept to her vigil, clasping one of his lifeless hands between both of hers while her eyes had remained fixed on each inhale and exhalation.

Outside, through the wooden shutters that covered the window, the sounds of the storm lashing the island barely registered in her thoughts. _He had to get better; they had come too far for him to be snatched away from her now. _She sniffed and blinked away a tear before finally letting go of his hand with one of her own so she could wipe away the moisture from her eyes.

A sudden snort and cough broke through her reverie, reminding her of the other occupant in the room and, just for a second, she risked a quick glance to where Sam sat sleeping soundly in a soft comfy chair. Satisfied her moment of weakness hadn't been captured by the older man, Fiona turned her attention back to Michael.

She fell back to studying his features, ignoring his unhealthy pallor and the gauntness and instead concentrating on the familiar, on those things Markov and his torture techniques hadn't managed to destroy: the unruliness of his hair when he slept, his long thick dark eyelashes which fluttered when he dreamed and the shape of his mouth when he fell into a deep sleep and all the tension fell away.

Her fingertips ghosted over his jaw and traced the line of his clavicle and her heart sunk a little bit further when he didn't respond to her touch. A soft sigh escaped from between her parted lips; at the moment, regardless of how sick he was, he really did look at peace. It was how he used to look back in Ireland when he was nothing more than a carefree spy with no worries and no burn notice hanging over his head. Back when he had been McBride and she had naively thought she could change him.

_Sometimes when she couldn't sleep, she would watch him instead, fast asleep on their old double bed in their run down Dublin flat with the covers thrown off his body and his face slack. She remembered how in the early hours of the morning after being woken yet again by their neighbors screaming and fighting, she had wondered how somebody who was so vital and full of life when awake could be so damned relaxed when sleeping. But this wasn't the same..._

She went back to clasping his hand between both of hers. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his knuckles. What she was watching now was not the peaceful slumber of a man at the end of a day or after a passionate session of making love. This was watching - she closed her eyes and shifted in her chair, she needed a distraction from where her thoughts were taking her. She needed some reassurance that all was going to be well. She opened her eyes and turned her gaze upon the medical equipment Jojo had managed to supply.

Michael was finally getting some of the attention he so desperately needed; fluids, antibiotics, and painkillers were all dripping their way into his body through an I.V. Billy Clemens had fixed up and, behind the bed, a bank of monitors with wires running to pads stuck to Michael's chest and torso kept a constant check on his condition. The numbers flashing away on the monitors screens all showed a slight improvement; it gave her hope, but inside a tiny knot of fear was growing.

What if this was only a minor reprieve? As Billy Clemens had pointed out time and time again, they had no idea what damage had been done to his internal organs. His heart had already stopped once and the seizures- she wondered how many more he could take.

It was the seizures that were the truly scary part and she found it hard to even think about the chances of him coming out of it all without some sort of brain damage. Biting down on her lip to silence another sob which was threatening to break free, she took a deep shuddering breath.

She was letting her grief get the better of her. _Michael __wasn't__ going to die, she wouldn't let him and when this was over she was going to find the man who had been pulling Markov's strings and, even if she had to go all the way to Moscow, she was going to rip his …..._

A light knock alerted Fiona to somebody at the door. Without conscious thought, she reached round to the waistband of her jeans and pulled out her gun. She was half way to her feet when the door began to swing open and at the same moment she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and saw that Sam hadn't been sleeping quite as heavily as she had hoped. He was still sitting but now his eyes were wide open and he held his gun out ready to fire.

With the door open, a figure stepped into the room and instantly both hand guns disappeared as quickly as they had been drawn. Fiona and Sam found themselves staring at Jojo's daughter Ria, her large brown eyes staring all around the room before settling on Fiona.

"Miss Fiona, Mister Axe, Mama told me to come get you. Lunch is ready." Though she was talking to both of them, her eyes never left Fiona's face.

"Oh, thank you." Fiona sat back down, her hand seeking out Michael's. "But - I,"

"It's okay, Fi," Sam broke in from his seat in the corner. "You go get something to eat. I'll stay an' watch Mikey."

"No, I'll stay." She didn't want to go, that small fear suddenly seemed to be growing bigger. _What if something happened while she was gone? She had taken too many chances, but no more._

"Fi, I need to rest my leg. I'll call out if he wakes up," Sam tried to convince her to take a break. He could see the strain of all that had happened clearly on her face.

"No need fer that." Billy Clemens walked up behind Ria, placing a hand on each of the young girl's shoulders. "Both of you go an' eat while I watch Michael."

The medic had cleaned up quite well, dressed in borrowed cargo pants and T shirt. He was also clean shaven and his hair was tied back out of the way.

Sam got slowly to his feet wincing as his bullet creased leg complained about being made to move, but he was hungry and knew that they both needed to eat or they would be good for nothing.

"C'mon, Fi, you miss one more meal and we're likely to lose you down a crack in the floorboards."

She looked from Michael over to Sam, a cutting retort on her lips, but then with a sigh she just shook her head. "No, he might wake up again. You can bring me something to eat here," she stated firmly.

"Really, Fiona, you should - -" Billy stopped talking as her eyes narrowed.

"Fi," Sam had hobbled to her side and leaned in close so Ria couldn't hear what he was about to say. "Jojo invited us into his home. He didn't have to do that. An' now you're insulting his family. C'mon, stop being a baby."

"Mike'll be safe Fiona, I promise," Billy spoke up again.

She really didn't want to go, but they were all ganging up on her, including Jojo's doe-eyed little girl who stared at her with open admiration.

"Fine, I'll go." She got to her feet and gently placed a kiss on Michael's forehead before being taken by her hand by Ria and led out of the room. "Sam," she smiled sweetly as she walked away. "You're going to pay for the baby comment, I'm not going to tell you when. It'll be a surprise."

When they reached the lounge, they discovered a long hardwood table covered with a variety of food and, all about the lounge, members of Jojo's crew sitting on every available piece of furniture, eating, drinking and watching a baseball game on a large flat screen TV attached to one of the walls.

"Fiona," Trini greeted her guest. "Come and get something to eat. You must be starved."

Sam watched with amusement as Jojo's wife and daughter led the Irish woman over to the table and started filling her plate. A slap to his back alerted him to Jojo's presence. "If I wuz you, I'd grab some grub before this lot eat it all."

Picking up a plate, Sam set about making himself a sandwich. "Your wife seems pretty taken with Fiona. It's sorta freaking me out a bit."

Jojo laughed and snatched up a chicken leg. "Yeah, well, what can I do about it? The woman went kinda crazy when I tol' her I wuz bringin' Fi back here."

Sam saw this as his opening. "Uh huh. Ria, beautiful girl by the way, said something about Fiona saving your boy from a 'bad man.' Gardeno, I take it?"

"His merc. Gardeno swore he didn't tell him to do it and, at the time with a large chunk of Boca on fire an' a police helicopter circling over head, we didn't have time to discuss it any further."

"Sounds like one of Fi's jobs," Sam remarked, taking a sip from his bottle of beer.

"Jojo, Pilar is on her way." Trini came up behind her husband. Dropping her arms over his shoulders, she kissed the top of his head.

"Now?" He looked towards the windows where the trees were still being bent over in the wind and rain.

"Teresa Hernandez went into labor just before the storm made landfall. Pilar is on her way back to the clinic. She said she was gonna call in here and get them blood samples now and save herself another trip later."

Jojo turned to Sam. "Billy asked us to get our doctor to run some blood tests for him."

"Good idea," Sam agreed. "I'll go tell -"

"Fiona has gone to tell Billy. You stay an' eat up," Trini informed him. "I'll get you another beer."

As Trini Delaney walked off in search of another beer for Sam, Jojo rubbed at his chin and then coughed to attract Sam's attention.

"Er, there's probably a few things I should let you know. Pilar Zedillo runs a clinic in Isla with her husband Juan. They're good people, _honest_ people. So it didn't feel right getting them mixed up in, whatever it is you are all mixed up in. Besides, I thought your plan was to keep Mike's condition and whereabouts as secret as possible."

"I get it, Jojo. What did you tell 'em?"

"So I told 'em you're a fancy lawyer from up North and you hired my yacht to take your screwed up brother out to sea for a coupla weeks to try an' straighten him out. Only your tough love scheme didn't pan out when he took real sick. But you offered up a whole load of money for me to help you keep it quiet. You don't want to risk the family name and all that."

Sam finished his mouthful of sandwich while he thought through the cover Jojo had created. Finally, he nodded and smiled. "It sounds easy enough to work with. We'd best let Fiona and Billy know - hell, what about Billy? I mean, if I'm some rich guy, I wouldn't have Billy as the family doctor and it's pretty obvious Mikey has had some medical help."

Jojo sucked in his cheeks. "It's okay. We'll say he works for me... It's not unusual to have somebody on board with a bit of medical training on one of these long cruises."

Sam groaned and got slowly to his feet. "Okay dokey then, let's go tell Mrs Charlotte Finley that Mikey, is now her good fer nothing brother-in-law."

**()()**

Half an hour later, Mr. Charles Finley was reclining comfortably in the Delaney's lounge sitting in an overstuffed armchair, resting his injured leg on a padded stool. In one hand, he held a tumbler of Johnny Walker blue label Scotch and in the other a Cuban cigar. Across from him, Mrs. Charlotte Finley sat stiffly in a matching chair, her eyes fixed on the hallway that led to Michael's room.

"We should be in there," Fiona hissed, anger sparking in her eyes.

"The doc has to think we're the sort of jerks who would deny a family member medical treatment just to save themselves from a scandal," Sam replied patiently, hiding the fact he wanted nothing more than to be in there too.

Fiona's mouth formed a hard tight line and her eyes followed his hand as he raised the tumbler and took a long appreciative sip of the expensive drink. "I suppose it's easier for some of people to act like a heartless bastard than it is for others."

He looked at her over the rim of his glass, his eyes widening at the venom in her tone. "I'm doing this to protect Mike," he reminded her. "And if you want to keep him safe, _you_ need to tough it out, lady, and start playing the part of Mrs. Heartless Bastard."

Sam watched as Fiona became very still, her features even more set than before. It was like waiting for a storm to break.

"_You_ might be happy to sit here and act like an asshole but _I_ want to know what she's doing and what they're saying." If looks could kill Sam Axe would have been six feet under the ground.

Then she was on her feet, all pretense of playing Mrs. Finley gone. "I should be in there. What if he wakes up and he's surrounded by strangers?"

"Sit down, short stuff!" Sam growled. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of her wrist, bringing her to a halt. He took the sharp blow he received to his head with barely a wince, but didn't let go. "Oww - Listen, you're letting your emotions get the better of you. Mike'll be fine. He's got two doctors looking after him at the moment. So, sit down."

She angrily snatched her arm free and pointed a finger in his face. "No - you can sit around while Michael is being mauled by some stranger, but I can't."

"Mr. Finley?"

It was then they realized they had an audience. Doctor Pilar Zedillo stood in the hallway watching them play out their little scene. Both Fiona and Sam instantly pulled themselves together even though Fiona's smile looked a little bit strained.

"Ah, Doctor Zedillo, so, how is my brother?" Sam inquired graciously.

Pilar walked closer, her expression stern and angry. "Mr. Finley, your brother should be in a hospital."

"Unfortunately, that is not possible at this time," Sam replied coldly, keeping in character. "Michael has - how shall I put this? Always been a problem and, at this time, a scandal would be - awkward."

The Island doctor pulled herself up straight, a faint look of disgust crossing her features at the man before her complete lack of concern for his brother's well being.

"Mr. Finley," she spoke slowly and carefully. "I'm sure you're aware of your brother's condition. He has obviously been forced to undergo an ill conceived rapid withdrawal when he was already in a weakened state. But my main concern is that not only has he been left dehydrated and malnourished for a lot longer than a few days, he also has marks on his body that lead me to believe he has been brutally restrained and there is also a recent bruise on his forehead, which neither Jojo or his medical officer can explain." She took a quick breath, "Mr. Finley, I will not countenance mistreating a patient."

"We haven't -" Fiona growled, stepping forward to put this woman straight, but stopping when Sam reached out and gave her arm a warning squeeze.

"As I told you Doctor Zedillo, my brother has a lot of problems, one of them being that he has a habit of borrowing money off disreputable people and usually I'm the one that has to sort it out for him. In this instance, he was delivered to my door in his present condition and I decided it would be best if he sobered up out at sea where he couldn't just climb out of a window or discharge himself from a hospital."

They all watched as Pilar Zedillo fought with her conscience. Something told her the man laying in the other room was more than a drug addict who had been forced through a bad withdrawal.

"What has he been using?" she eventually asked. "It would be helpful to know what drugs he has taken and for how long."

"We don't know," Sam replied truthfully, before Fiona could speak.

"You must. Surely if -"

"Doctor Zedillo," Sam hardened his tone. "Do I look like somebody who consorts with drug addicts? I have no idea what my brother chooses to put into his body."

She bit down on her lip, accepting she wasn't going to get any more information. "Very well. I'll add a tox screen to the tests. I'll put a rush on the results for you, but it'll still be a couple of days." She took a breath. "Isn't there anything I can say that will convince you to have him admitted to a hospital?. I could have him moved to my clinic. It would -"

"Is he immediate danger?" Sam broke in.

"He appears stable, at the moment," she spoke reluctantly. "But that could change without warning. If you care at all for your brother, please let me have him moved to my clinic. He needs more than a few blood tests. I understand he has being having seizures?"

Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Pilar picked up on the cracks appearing in Charles Finley. "Surely it would be better if your brother was somewhere more capable of giving him the care he needs?"

Sam hated the act he was having to put on, but somebody with the resources to fire a missile onto American soil was hunting Michael down. Whoever it was had blown up a house full of their own people. He couldn't risk putting innocents in danger. Sam looked over to Fiona, who looked like she was about to break.

"If Michael's condition gets any worse, I will consider your offer, Dr Zedillo. Until then I would like to keep this matter as quiet as possible," he answered using a tone that left no doubt that the matter was closed.

With a disappointed sigh, the doctor offered her hand. "Well, then, there is nothing else to say. If you change your mind," she turned to Fiona and made eye contact. "Or if you just want to talk to somebody, Jojo, Mr. Delaney, has my number."

"Goodbye, Doctor Zedillo, I'll keep your offer in mind," Sam dismissed her with a curt nod. He waited, watching Pilar walking away. "Charlotte, I was thinking we would dine out tonight. There must be one decent restaurant on this Island." He smiled when he saw the Doctor's shoulders stiffen at his unfeeling comment.

"So, that went well, Fi?" He had expected to find Fiona as pleased as he was at fooling the doctor, but instead he received a look of utter disdain from the tiny Irish woman as she stalked past him towards the bedroom.

"Fi?" he called after her.

"I know, Sam," she called back. " know it was all just an act but it doesn't mean I had to like it."

"Fi!" Sam struggled to his feet. He had known it was going to be hard on her, but he hadn't expected her to react quite this badly.

"Sam, just leave me alone! I understand why you did it, but - " She waved him away and closed the bedroom door on his face.

He stood there with his hand on the door knob, his forehead resting against the frame. He went to enter, but then changed his mind. The last thing Mikey needed was a screaming match next to his bed. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. She just needed time to calm down. Turning away, he limped slowly back towards the lounge.

**()()**

Inside the bedroom, Fiona sunk down into the chair next to the bed, her hand reaching out of its own accord so their fingers could entwine. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly against the gathering tears.

_Michael could have been in a proper hospital, receiving proper care. _At that moment, she wanted to kill Sam. _Would it really have hurt anybody if just for once they thought only of themselves?_

"Er, Fiona?"

"Not now, Billy," she sighed, refusing to look at him.

"But - "

"Billy, go. Leave us alone." She glared up at the medic now. "I'll - "

"He's awake." Billy was at the other side of the bed. "Michael's awake."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**Chapter Twenty Three**

"What 'ere - 'ou thinkin, - some - ody - boat - 'is condition? He - be in - hospital."

"- 'ou try- sayin' - no to 'em."

The faint hum and murmur of unfamiliar voices raised in a heated discussion broke through the mind numbing fatigue that held Michael captive. The angry tones of what he guessed was maybe three individuals piqued his interest, enough to lift him out of the darkness and move him towards the dim and distant light.

"I can't be-eve that man, 'is bro - er is seriously sick and he's - ore concerned 'out the -amily reputation."

The words were still hollow and distorted, as if he was hearing them from deep underwater. But he could now make out that one of the voices was feminine and that she was seriously exasperated with what had to be at least two men in the room. Could it be his Mom? Fiona? - No, this was somebody new.

Slowly, against his will, he felt himself continue to float upwards until his level of consciousness broke through the surface. Faint flickering lights danced before his eyes and the mumbled voices that had been far away in the distance started to become clear. But that wasn't all, along with a raised awareness came the pain his brain had tried to shut out.

A dull ache radiated through his limbs and a throbbing pain was building up behind his eyes. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to forget all the pain and confusion and return to the safety of a dreamless sleep where he could hide out in the peace and tranquility of the deep dark recesses of his mind.

Fatigue and hopelessness pressed in on him, urging him to ignore the call to fight. It was better to surrender and fall back into the quiet gloom of sleep where he could rest undisturbed forever. But she, whoever she was, wasn't going to leave him alone. This time she was close enough that he could feel her breath against his cheek and her slow clear slightly accented speech made it easy for him to make out what she was saying.

"Mr. Finley - Michael, I'm Doctor Zedillo. I'm going to examine you. I promise I won't do anything that will hurt you."

At least she was no longer annoyed; her tone was now comforting and soothing. He almost trusted her. Almost. She was a doctor and it was difficult to believe she would be any different than all the others that had promised him no pain.

Not that he really cared. The call to surrender to the torpor that wrapped around him, seeping into his muscles and brain, was strong. After all, fighting was futile. Doctor Vincent had proven that to him time after time.

"I'm going to take a little bit of blood. It won't hurt. You'll just feel a small scratch." He felt a band tighten around his arm.

No more needles, no more needles, no more... They promised - Fiona promised. She had promised to be there when he woke up and that there would be no more needles. If she had kept her promise, why was she so quiet and why was she letting this strange doctor near him?

He was close to surfacing now. He could smell the doctor's perfume and feel her hand on the inside of his elbow, pressing down where moments earlier he had felt the scratch of a needle entering his arm.

"There all done, Michael... I'm going to talk to his brother - - I can't get over you allowing this, Jojo. Just look at his wrists and ankles. He's been restrained and the bruise above his eyes- Do you know who did this?"

_His brother? She said Nate? What was Nate doing here? - Their Mom must have sent him. But why when the last time he had seen her she wouldn't let him come home?_

_He remembered how she had been wearing that godawful blonde wig, the one she always used to wear to hide the damage done to her scalp after the old man had dragged her across the room by her hair._

_The old man, his dear old dad. Suddenly, he felt a cold chill ran up his spine. He had crashed Frank's pride and joy, the Charger. It had to be a wreck._

Michael gulped and swallowed as his memories started to splinter.

_His Dad was gonna kill him this time for sure. If Nate was here, maybe his Dad had already pounded on him and that's why he was in the hospital?_

_Frank Westen was dead. He was sure of it - "You missed your Father's funeral - by eight years."_

_"Last time I saw him he said 'I'll see you in hell, boy' so I figured we had something on the books."_

_The Doctor called him Finley. Who was Michael Finley? Was it a cover name?_

_Then it came to him - Chuck Finley was black ops. No one knew who he was because everybody he dealt with is dead. If the devil hadda name it would be..._

Michael fought to calm the turmoil inside his head. He knew he couldn't carry on the way he was. He had to find a way of controlling the confusion and quelling the depression, which was threatening to smother him. He was a highly skilled covert agent after all. He couldn't afford the luxury of giving up when his mind demanded answers and to get them he needed to start fighting back and take back some control.

Opening his eyes, he blinked at the bright light which hung high above his head, making everything blurred and indistinct. Then slowly he began to focus through the haze and he saw the IV line running from his arm to a half empty bag hanging from a tall steel pole. His heart clenched when he realized he was back in the hospital. He turned his head to the side and caught sight of the monitor screens, which only confirmed his suspicions.

_"You're very sick, Michael. You suffered a psychotic break, but you're getting better now. But you must take your medication." And he had done as he was told, dutifully swallowing the pills he was handed by the blonde nurse with the caring expression and kind eyes. Fiona, her name was Fiona._

The sound of tearing plastic caught his attention and he realized for the first time that somebody was still in the room with him. As the figure turned, Michael closed his eyes and tried to relax, hoping the monitors he was attached to didn't give him away.

His head was reeling, filled with contrasting realities and no way of working out which one was real. He clenched his jaw as he struggled with the jumble of memories and confused emotions. He had to find something to hang onto, something that he could believe in, one line of thought he could follow to the truth.

_"Mikey, you've gotta listen to me. You've been drugged and interrogated. They've filled you up on babble juice. Come on. You know what that feels like. You've been through it before. I know it's hard, but you've got to take control."_ Out of nowhere, Sam Axe's calm relaxed tone came to him.

Was Sam right? He remembered there had been lots of questions. He also remembered being drugged and handcuffed. But Dr Vincent had explained it all, the drugs and the questions. It was all being done for his own good to make him better.

_"Michael, we're trying to help you. But you have to cooperate. We require certain information from you so we can understand what has happened and maybe cure you of all these illusions." Dr Vincent's stale breath hit him squarely in the face._

_Instantly a soothing hand cupped his cheek, offering him comfort. "You're safe here with us. Sam and me, we chased away all the bad guys. Vincent is dead, killed by his own side." Fiona Glenanne. He would know her touch anywhere. The calluses on her thumb, across the palm of her hand and on her trigger finger, all signs of her frequent use of a gun…. The faint scent of explosives that always pervaded her skin; a comforting reminder of better days._

_Where was she now? Ireland? England? - Miami?_

Michael's eyes flickered open for a second time, but only for a moment before closing tight against the bright light which nearly blinded him. It was the bright light shining overhead like the hot African sun, which reminded him of where Dr Vincent's questions always started.

_"Tell me what happened in Nigeria, Michael. Tell me, what do you think happened in that Warri hotel?"_

_The market place in Warri, Nigeria, that was where it all went wrong. He had been in Nigeria, a simple assignment, handing off three quarter million dollars to a Russian gangster to stop him terrorizing American oil field workers and blowing up the contractors equipment._

_"We got a burn notice on you. You're blacklisted." He had been trying to arrange the transfer of funds. He remembered the feeling of disbelief that it had to be a mistake and then the cold dread of realizing he had been cut off from all support in the middle of an assignment._

_But Dr Vincent disputed his account of the events in that hotel room._

_"No, Michael, you had spoken to your handler and he realized something was off. He called in an extraction team, but you had already killed everybody in the room." He had shown him photographs of the room and the Russian gangster's bullet riddled body._

The bang of a door being slammed jerked him out of the delirium and he froze at the clatter of high heel shoes crossing the room to his side. He heard a very familiar soft sigh and when his fingers became entwined with the long slender fingers of his newest visitor, he had to open his eyes seeking confirmation that she was really there.

"Er, Fiona?"

Michael's eyes flickered to the man who stood on the other side of the bed. Brown hair hanging in dreadlocks, the faint reek of marijuana and alcohol drifting over him. - Billy?

"Not now, Billy," Fiona confirmed the man's identity.

Michael's chest contracted as a breath caught in his throat. Fiona! He tried to speak, but no sound would come out.

"But - "

"Billy, go. Leave us alone... I'll - " Michael tried to squeeze her hand, but he had no strength at all

"He's awake. Michael's awake."

The bed dipped and she was there in front of him, her long auburn tresses caressing his cheeks, her blue-green eyes gazing down at him.

"Hey," she smiled, her hand reaching out to cradle his cheek.

He pressed into the warmth of her palm reveling in the comfort she was offering, his eyes sliding shut as he lost himself in her touch; if he could just stay there forever.

"Fi - o - na," he managed to speak, his voice raspy and dry. "Stay." He knew it was an empty wish. He was back in the hospital which meant she wasn't really there with him.

_"Michael, how many times do I have to tell you that Fiona Glenanne was arrested outside a small town called Rhyl in North Wales during an operation run by MI5 in November 01. She was imprisoned 'at her Majesty's pleasure' and because she is considered such a high risk she was placed in the high security unit at Rampton."_

Michael blinked and pushed Dr Vincent's words to the back of his mind. He would have this time with was a feeble wish because he already felt the pull of sleep as his eyes lost focus.

"Fiona?" Billy interrupted softly. "We have to sit him up and get him to drink."

"He's falling asleep. Can't we let him rest?" Fiona's voice was beginning to fade into the ether as Michael drifted off.

"No, c'mon. I'll support him while you get some more pillows behind his back and head."

Michael woke up as Billy wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. "It's okay, Mike. You have ter stay awake a bit longer, you have to drink."

"No," Michael protested weakly, his voice barely audible from behind the oxygen mask. "Lemme alone, leave - me 'lone."

They ignored him. As he slumped limply in Billy's arms, he could feel pillows being wedged behind his back and at his sides. When he was finally allowed to lay back, he was propped in a sitting position.

His eyes followed Billy as the medic crossed the room and returned moments later holding a small carton pierced by a straw.

"Michael, this is a special drink. It's called a meal replacement. It'll help build you up until you're ready for something more solid." Billy passed the drink to Fiona. "It's vanilla flavor. If you don't like it, there's others you can choose." The medic turned his attention to Fiona. "Get him to drink as much as you can."

Michael heard Billy's words but he was already shutting down, despondency setting in. Everything he thought had happened was illusion. Even now, he was seeing his Fiona, the wild Irish woman he had abandoned in Dublin but he had seen the proof she couldn't be with him.

"Will you let Sam know he's awake?" Fiona asked Billy.

The medic nodded, "Sure."

"Michael, you had us all worried. But we're safe now, completely off the radar." Fiona maneuvered the straw under the oxygen mask and between his lips. A frown forming on her forehead when he lay ignoring her. "Michael?"

She peered at him but he continued to look through her as if she wasn't there.

"Okay, you don't want to talk, at least try some of this. You need to get your strength back." Exasperation was creeping into her tone.

He sipped a little of the drink, his eyes closing and then opening, but never making eye contact. He couldn't think of her as Fiona. Fiona was locked away in the UK. This was some sort of hallucination.

There had been a blond nurse called Fiona. Was he mixing the two women up?

_Would he really have had a relationship with a mad Irish bomber? Surely when he talked of a Fiona who looked after him, cared for him, was it possible he was confusing the once pretty terrorist with the caring nurse who watched over him every day?_

He stared up at her, his eyes bloodshot and watery. Spitting out the straw, he asked, "Who are you?"

She looked down at him and bit her lower lip, her own eyes filling with tears.

"You know who I am, Michael."

He wanted to believe her. She looked so familiar. He tried to move his hand to reach out and touch her, but his limbs were like dead weights.

"I was told you were gone, arrested -"

Fiona sighed and removed the straw from his mouth. He could see how much his words had hurt her, but he was also aware it could be an act. His head was now pounding with a headache and his stomach was beginning to clench from the thick milkshake-like substance he had drunk, but he needed answers.

She was lifting the oxygen mask and gently wiping his mouth and chin where the liquid had spilled out of the sides of his mouth. "The man you know as Vincent," she began to speak. "Lied to you. He told you that you were all alone and he drugged you."

"He tol' me - "

She halted his words with a look.

"I don't care what that bastard tol' ya, Michael. But can you tell me how I would know about what happened a tha Slieveanorra forest if I weren't fer real?"

"Slieveanorra?" The Irish lilt that had crept into her voice helped him to remember. He had never told anybody about what happened that night, not even Dan Siebels.

"Ya bombed tha road behind us, ta stop tha police chasin' after us. Ya climbed into tha back seat an' hung outta tha window with a brick o' Semtex I had hidden under tha seat."

The accent, the details all convinced him she was telling the truth. His chest contracted and he took several gulping breaths, his face crumbling as he realized he had been right all along. He had been so close to giving in and believing the lies he had been told.

He finally made eye contact, trying to look at her through tear filled eyes. "I couldna let 'em take ya. It woulda blown me cover," he gasped.

She smiled through her own tears. " An' when ya ambushed tha men that had jus' arrested me, were ya thinking about yer precious cover then?"

He gave her a look of wonder.

"This is real?" His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Fiona nodded. Leaning forward, she wiped his tears away and carefully raised the oxygen mask. "Yes, and this is real, too." Her lips grazed softly against his in a tender kiss.

"Jeez, Fi, give the poor guy a chance to get better before you try sucking his face off."

Fiona jumped back, her head turning towards the door and the sight of Sam Axe, who stood leaning against the door frame.

"So I'm guessing he's feeling better," he smirked as he crossed the room.

**()() **

**A/N:**The story of what occurred in the Slieveanorra Forest can be found in **Who We Once Were** on the M-rated paged.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twenty Four**

"This is real?" he'd dared to ask, staring up into those blue-green eyes.

The talk of a wild twenty four hours long ago in Northern Ireland had struck a chord in Michael's memory and he'd grabbed onto it, desperate for anything that gave him hope of escaping the confusion that filled his mind.

Fiona. He was pretty certain now that it was the real Fiona Glenanne, _his _Fiona, who leaned over to wipe away the moisture leaking from his eyes, and held his gaze helping him to stay focused.

"Yes, and this is real, too." she had said just before her lips had brushed softly against his in a tender kiss. It was that kiss that had brought forth a flood of memories into his mind.

"Jeez, Fi, give the poor guy a chance to get better before you try sucking his face off. I'm guessing he's feeling better."

At the sound of another familiar voice calling out in the background, Fiona had pulled away, but Michael hadn't responded. He was lost in a flashback, a mishmash of vivid sensations bombarding his senses and blocking out everything else.

_The down draft of a helicopter circling over head making his eyes water and adding to the difficulty of aiming his gun at the police Gazelle chopper's fuselage, the steady whirring noise of the rotor blades almost drowning out the noise of gunfire in the distance and the wail of emergency sirens._

_His heart beating wildly with excitement as he leaned out of the speeding car's rear window to throw a brick of Semtex into the middle of the road behind them._

_An icy cold hand seeking out the warmth of his body, pulling at his clothing, while all around them armed men could be moving in on their position._

_The strong smell of pine as he buried his face into the curve of Fiona's neck, her soft hair brushing against his cheek, the feel of his fingers and palms against cold damp earth as he hovered over her supine body. _

_Her hands on his back, her nails dragging across his skin, the overriding need to remain silent had been almost too much to bear. _

"Michael! Michael, comeback to us... Michael!" Fiona's voice came to him but from faraway.

Then closer, with a mocking Irish lilt in her tone, "We'll just 'ave ta be very quiet. D'ya tink ya can manage that, Michael?"

"Quiet," he mumbled the word out loud, unsure which Fiona he was speaking to.

He thought he heard other words and voices intruding into his dream state, but his mind blocked them out as other memories took over.

_Fear. It hit him like a hammer, not for himself but for her. _

_The creak of his step on wooden floorboards in a guest-house where he had been sent to extract the wife of an MI6 informer, the stench of death when he opened the door, the dried blood staining the walls, a single word written in the victim's blood; a warning to anybody else who might think of betraying 'the cause'. _

_Dread of Fiona facing the same fate if his identity was ever discovered._

_Anger. Anger at her for her complete disregard of her own safety or his sanity. _

_Frustration at her for hiding a piece of her life away from him. _

_Followed by the fury he felt when he slammed his fist against her cousin's front door, fury that he had contained so well in the face of the equally angry little Irishman as he tried to find out where she had gone._

Hands were gripping his shoulders, shaking him and voices filled with concern that had been calling out to him in the distance now sounded loudly in his ears. Gasping as if he had been without air, Michael opened his eyes and the flashbacks receded, leaving him utterly exhausted.

The dark pine forest was gone; the fresh cold mountain air replaced by heavy humidity. Looking around, Michael stared with confusion at the clean sparsely decorated room filled with medical equipment before finally fixing on the two worried faces of his friends. He looked from one to the other.

"Fiona?" He stared into her blue-green eyes before straying to the long auburn hair framing her delicate features. She smiled at him, confirming her identity.

Satisfied he was correct, Michael turned to study the older man with concern etched into his rugged features. "Sam?"

"Hey, you remembered my name. That's great. How are ya feeling, Mikey?"

Michael let his eyes close. He was safe. He had plenty of questions but for now they could wait. He was just happy Fiona wasn't locked away in a high security facility back in England and Sam was his friend rather than the womanizing lush Dr. Vincent had depicted. He could rest.

But his mind refused to rest. He had never told a soul about Slieveanorra; it was theirs and theirs alone. He was positive only he and Fiona knew all the details. He opened his eyes, searching her out. He had to know before he could succumb to the fatigue that was draining his body.

"Michael, you need to rest." She smiled.

"I – have – to be – sure," he tried to keep her in focus. "Tell me – somethin' – somethin' about that night. Only – you – "

_He could see the disappointment on her face. _

"Michael, what else can I say to make you believe me?"

_And hear in her voice how he had upset her with his lack of trust._

"Somethin' – only – you know, that nobody else – " he insisted, blinking away the urge to surrender to the fatigue that was overtaking his body and mind.

"What difference will it make?"

He managed a brief smile. "I – know you. I'll – know... Jus' tell – " His voice, even weaker than before, faded away.

She leaned in closer so he could see her face clearly and thought back to that night, trying to come up with something that would convince him she was who she said she was. "You were in a car I was prepping for a bank job, and – my cousin Ryan called me and said you'd turned up at his front door looking like you were about to commit a murder."

"No," he sighed heavily. "That – night in the – forest," he pressed.

She looked up and caught Sam watching them both intently. Biting her lip, she turned back to Michael.

"Tell – me." He was becoming agitated at her lack of response. "P – please, Fi – I – need – "

She threw a glare at Sam, hoping he would back off, but the only concession the ex SEAL made was to drop his head and stare at the floor. Huffing with annoyance, Fiona picked up Michael's left hand and then leaned over so her lips were next to his ear.

"You have a small scar on the palm of your hand," she stroked the tiny indentation in his palm. "Ya got it tha night when ya covered me mouth an' I bit ya."

Next she lifted his hand to touch her clavicle, getting his fingers to trace along her collar bone. "An' it was lucky for you we had that spell of bad weather and I could get away with wearing thick jumpers, cuz otherwise you'd have been stuck explaining the teeth marks on my shoulder to my brothers."

"I – forgotten – about that." He spoke so softly she barely made out his words.

Sitting back Fiona smiled with relief as all signs of agitation disappeared from his face and he fell almost immediately into a deep sleep. She kept watch for a few minutes until she was sure he was sleeping and then sat up straight, turning her gaze to where Sam stood watching them from the end of the bed. Running her fingers through her hair, she let out a long sigh.

"Well that went well. He recognized both of us and I think he really believes we're here to help now." She wanted to gloss over what she had said to Michael before Sam could start asking questions.

"Yeah, Fi, it's a start at least."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence watching the monitors recording Michael's vitals. After awhile Sam coughed and cleared his throat to draw Fiona's attention.

"Do you have something to say?" she asked in hushed tones so as not to disturb Michael.

"Yeah, I do. We're not going to find anywhere better to lay up and Mikey is looking pretty stable at the moment. So I think it's time we start making plans for the future."

Fiona pursed her lips, her gaze straying back to Michael. "Once he's stronger and we can make him understand, we'll have to talk him into having an MRI and I dare say he's going to need some physical therapy."

"Not what I'm talking about, Fi," Sam answered back seriously. Straightening up, he winced as the action pulled on his damaged ribs. "When Mike was burned, he was ordered to stay in Miami. He's still top on every government watch list. He _has_ to go back and the sooner the better. Look, he's been missing for over a month, and let's face it, it's gonna take more than a coupla days before he's gonna be fit enough to travel. We need to work on something we can feed to the feds to get them to lay off. Then there's – " He paused when he spotted the stubborn glint in her eyes. "Hey! Tell me you weren't thinking about going on the run?"

"Why not? It's like you said, he's been missing for over a month. There's nothing to stop us from just disappearing. We could find somewhere safe to stay away from – " She halted her words when Sam shook his head.

"You know that Mike won't agree to that. You heard him before all this started. he wants his old job back. And what's just happened is gonna make him even more determined to get back into the CIA's good graces than ever before."

"But – "

"But nothin', missy, while Mike is getting his strength back, the best thing we can do for him is find out as much as we can about Markov's secret benefactor, in case whoever they are haven't given up on getting' their answers, and while we're working on that we need to come up with something that Mike can tell the feds when we get back."

Fiona wiped a hand over her forehead and then through her hair. As much as she hated it, she knew Sam was right. "Fine," she huffed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well I'm going to make a start on Markov's files. My Russian is pretty useless but I'll give it a whirl. You never know, maybe I'll get lucky an' find something we can use." He paused, looked away and then spoke quickly. "An' while I'm doing that – you give Barry a call an' get him to set us up with an account at one of the local banks."

"Barry," she spoke the name with distaste.

"He's the only guy we know who can transfer money quietly and keeps his phones swept for bugs," he reasoned.

She got to wearily to her feet and sighed. "Alright, I'll do it. Wait here while I get my phone."

Sam held out a hand to stop her passing. "How about I go find Billy to keep an eye on Mike and then after you've made the call, you can get some sleep."

"No, I'm -"

"No, Fi, you're not fine. You haven't had any real sleep since we found Mike. So, call Barry and then get your head down for a few hours. I'm not goin' to be stuck with both of you too sick to be of any use."

Fiona waited until Sam left the room and then turned all her attention back to Michael. Without conscious thought, she ran her fingers through his unruly hair, combing it back away from his face and trying to make it lay flat. Counting back, she worked out it was just over three months since his last haircut. Almost three months had passed since she had put a bullet in Carla's black heart and Michael had jumped out of Managements helicopter.

He had then spent several days in a holding cell, while Sam had pulled strings with god only knew how many buddies to get his release and then a week working with Harlan, the traitorous ex-SEAL who had fooled them all.

She knew how hard Harlan's betrayal had hit him, that an old and trusted comrade in arms had been willing to sell him out for a payday. She had witnessed how his normally cautious behavior had deteriorated to outright paranoia at times, making him withdraw further into himself, refusing jobs so he could concentrate on searching for a way back into the CIA.

Hours spent at the local gun range had been fun, as had the half day out in the glades shopping for C4 and then there were the evenings they spent in hand to hand combat training, which led on to other enjoyable activities. That had been the upside of Michael's single-minded drive.

The downside had been the hours of boring surveillance and research on anybody he thought could help him find a way back in. Then there were the stoic stares and monosyllable replies if she or Sam tried to include him in conversations not involving national security.

Sam's words came back to her; he was right. Michael was probably going to be even more determined than ever to get back under the protective wing of the CIA. Letting out a long sigh, she thought about what she wanted and it came down to one simple thing: Michael. She wanted him to want her, for them to have some sort of life together.

She stared at his emaciated frame and picked up his hand, turning it over so she could see all the dark track marks marring the skin. She traced the discolored lines until she reached the fading bruises on his wrist from the restraints that had been used on him. Maybe things would be different. Maybe she could convince him that if he lived quietly, under the radar of all the bad guys, they could be happy.

She had money, enough for them to live quite comfortably, and she had more than enough guns to keep them safe. She laid his hand back down on top of the sheet.

_Aye, an' if wishes war horses, then beggars would ride, me darlin' girl. So stop tinkin' about all tha wha' if's an' instead deal wiv wha's here an' now._

She flopped back in the chair. Sam was right, she was tired. Her father's voice only ever came to her when she was exhausted and, what was worse, the long dead Patriarch of the Glenanne clan had a point.

"Hey, how's he doin'? You get much of that drink in him?"

Her head turned sharply to the door and she eyed Billy as he walked toward her, catching the smell of strong spirits on his breath as he got closer. It was on the tip of her tongue to berate the man for his lack of professionalism, but she was still very aware of how many times he had saved Michael's life.

"He managed half the carton before falling asleep," she told him. "Shouldn't we lay him back down again?"

Billy shook his head. "No, leave him sat up. It'll be easier on his lungs and we need to start waking him up every few hours to get him to drink from one of those cartons. Did he say much? – I mean, was he lucid, does he know what's going on?"

"We didn't get that far, but we talked and I think he believed we're helping him." She sighed and picked up Michael's hand again.

"Sam said you have a call to make."

She pulled a face. "Yes, I suppose I should go and get it over with." Getting to her feet, she took one last look at Michael before walking towards the door. "Call me when he wakes up again."

**()()**

Sam stared at the boxes of files that Jojo's crew had brought into the house from the yacht. It was everything he had managed to salvage from the building where Michael had been held and what Billy had taken out of Markov's SUV's before Veronica's beach house was blown up.

He picked up the laptop, toying with the idea of switching it on but dismissed the thought for now. Anything worth knowing would be encrypted and impossible to read. So instead he pulled out several folders from one of the boxes from taken from Markov's car and limped over to the chair he had been sitting in during his less than friendly exchange with Dr Zedillo.

Once he was comfortable, he picked up the first folder and started to skim the pages looking for any words or phrases he recognized. After the first three pages he sucked in a deep breath before letting it go in a heavy sigh.

"I'm gonna need another drink," he muttered, rising to help himself to some more of Jojo's Scotch.

Back in his chair, he took a long gulp of the amber liquid savoring the taste before picking up the folder again and returning to his task.

He discovered after the those first few pages, some of his previous knowledge of the Russian language had started to come back to him. But it was still a slow torturous process. Fifteen or twenty years ago, he had been reasonably proficient with quite a few of the old Soviet Bloc languages but not anymore.

The first file was filled with nothing but requisition orders. He made notes on the suppliers names, hoping that they might be able to trace a lead back to Markov's mystery benefactor. He also painstakingly copied out words he thought might be drugs, but with his lack of knowledge it meant the words he did his best to translate could equally turn out to be a brand of floor cleaner.

After half an hour, he moved onto the next file filled with what appeared to be reports from everybody from the head of security to the building maintenance officer. He was about to move onto the next file when he skimmed through another page and, as he tried to follow the text, his whole body went cold.

"Sweet Jesus, you gotta be kiddin' me."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twenty Five**

"Sweet Jesus, you gotta be kiddin' me," Sam frowned as he stared at the page in his hand.

The document was a report written by somebody called Ivan notifying Markov of Michael's condition upon his arrival at the Russian's facility: bruising to his head, chest, wrists and ankles plus minor electrical burns to the left side of his chest and finally a notation on the dose of Ketamine they had injected into the burned spy to keep him unconscious for transport.

But as sick as the contents of the document made him feel, it wasn't the words that held Sam's attention. It was the faint indentations in the top right hand corner of the page. It was as if somebody had written a note on a piece of paper resting on top of the document and the pressure of the pen had transferred the words through onto the paper below.

_Henry Berman. 305-555-4638._

Sam continued to stare at the name Henry Berman, Henry goddamn Berman, who he had spent a week working for just before the whole Samantha Keyes and stolen military technology fiasco.

It had been a nice little job earning him some much needed cash after Ronnie had thrown him out on his ass after he had confessed he was technically still married. A buddy of a buddy had hooked him up with what had been described as an easy gig: checking out the security at a factory manufacturing bullets, cartridges and about to branch out into the exciting world of land mines. Apparently the owner, Henry Berman, was putting together a tender for a big military contract and wanted to be sure his security procedures were up to scratch.

It was just the type of work Sam could do standing on his head, running security scenarios and then going through the results with the staff. Nobody was shooting at him or asking him to run a roadblock, and, to make things even better, Henry had actually offered to pay him in cash. He remembered how he had spent the money, blowing it on mojitos, women and fancy restaurants.

Now, he was beginning to see Henry's charm and friendly attitude as a carefully executed set-up which he had fallen for hook, line and sinker. Draining the remaining scotch in his glass, he laid his head back against the chair and stared up at the ceiling trying to remember every conversation he'd had with the man.

Oh, he had been good, good ol' Hank Berman, everybody's friend. Drinks after a hard day at work, the occasional lunch time meal and- Sam let out a long sigh- the fishing trip, sitting out in the Atlantic waiting to get a bite.

"So, Sam, what do you get into when you're not writing up security reports? You look more like an action type guy than a pencil pusher. Hey, I betcha have some great stories, not the classified stuff, but I don't believe you're spending your retirement sitting around waiting to die, huh? Am I right? C'mon, spill it."

Was all this on him? Had he helped to set up Mike, the man he thought of as a brother to be kidnapped and tortured? The thought made him sick to his stomach; he had to find some way of making this right.

_What the hell would Henry Berman want from Mikey?_

Getting to his feet, Sam left his empty glass on the arm of the chair and limped over to the boxes filled with all they had on Viktor Markov. Sitting in a comfortable chair skimming idly through the files of evidence sipping on expensive Scotch was not going to get the job done, not anymore.

The name had given him something to work with, a corner piece of a giant jigsaw puzzle of information. Bending down, he exhaled sharply as he lifted the first of the boxes to carry it over to the long wooden table which sat in the middle of the room.

Ten minutes later, he had emptied all the files from the boxes onto the table and was standing looking down at the task he had set himself. As he stared at the paper and cardboard covered table top, he ran through everything Viktor Markov had told him before his untimely but totally deserved death.

Markov had been sent by Russian intelligence to capture and interrogate Michael. Somebody, most likely Berman, had approached the Russian and handed him an envelope stuffed full of cash. With the money was a phone number and when Markov called it some mystery man offered him more money if he would get Michael to answer his questions.

Sam recalled his conversation with his buddy Connie who worked in the SWAT communications department. She had spoken about somebody high up in the Economic Trade Commission stopping the police investigation. Markov had boasted that, after they had freed Michael, he had made one call and the police and FBI had both backed off. He was positive Berman didn't have that kind of power and he certainly didn't have the type of pull to get NORAD to look the other way while he fired a missile at Key West beach properties.

"No," Sam thought. Berman had to be the cut-out. No way was he a master spycatcher. Besides, the tracker he had pulled off the Saab was far too high tech to have come from Berman's factory."

So that meant that somewhere out there was the man pulling Berman's strings; probably in return for that big contract Henry had been so enthusiastic about.

Sam wiped at his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face. How could he have been so stupid? He had acted like a complete rookie! How was he going to put this right?

Breathing deeply, Sam took control. He wasn't the sort to wallow in self-pity. By the time they were ready to return to Miami, he was going to make sure he was ready to ask Berman all the right questions and he wasn't going to give up until the sneaky bastard answered every single one.

With a look of determination on his face, Sam eased himself down into one of the dining room chairs and picked up one of the files he had skimmed through earlier. If it took him all night, he was going read through each and every page thoroughly.

"And this is the reason why I steered clear of all the intelligence agencies and stuck to being a SEAL." Rubbing at his forehead, he set to work.

It wasn't long before Sam was lost in a sea of paperwork as he tried to work out who else they were up against. He couldn't believe that Berman was Markov's benefactor's only asset. There had to be more out there and he was going to find them.

"It looks like all that readin' is givin' you a headache."

Sam's head snapped around at the sound of Jojo's voice coming from just inside the door way.

"Huh?" was all he managed to come up with as a reply. Looking out of the window, he was surprised to find it was getting dark outside. He had completely lost track of time.

"Sorry." Jojo walked further into the room. "It's just the look on your face. I get a similar one every time I try to balance my legit business accounts." He picked up the empty glass from where Sam had left it and went over to his liquor cabinet to refill the whiskey tumbler.

"Yeah, well, this is the life work of an evil sonuvabitch and it's all in Russian." Sam dropped the file down and took the refilled glass. "I don't suppose you've gotta computer I could use? This would go a helluva lot faster if I had somewhere I could put everything in one place while I check and verify the details."

Jojo didn't answer immediately. Instead he took a sip of his drink and then slowly walked over to one of the shelves lining the walls. He picked up a plain glass photo frame and as he stood with his back to Sam as he began to speak.

"You know, I've put up with a helluva lot from you people. I mean, I blew off a job to pick you all up in Key West and nearly got my goddamn boat blown to pieces fer my troubles. A frickin' military spec drone, Axe, is not something I normally come across in my line of work. Then I risk getting my boat smashed to pieces bringing it into dock. You should know I don't like ter bring Josephine in here, she too big, an' I can't take her back out ter sea now until the water is high enough so that I don't scrape the bottom off an' even then it's gonna be a close thin'. An' you've also got me lying to friends and bringing what could work out ter be a whole heap o danger into my family home."

Sam hung his head. He had pushed too far. Jojo was about to kick them out. With his head bowed, Sam didn't hear the gunrunner approach until the man was next to him.

"Anybody else who kept asking for favors without giving anything in return would get booted out on their ass..." He handed the photo-frame to Sam. "But, that's JJ, my oldest boy. He came close to not making it to his sixteenth birthday. If that little firecracker in the other room hadn't intervened, I don't – Anyway, I'll sort you out a computer and anything else you need."

Sam looked at the photograph. The boy was skinny with a mop of thick dark hair and when Sam looked closer he could see the boy was missing a little finger on his right hand and had a long deep scar running from his hair line across his left eye and down to his chin.

"Fiona has a thing about people hurting kids." Sam handed the photograph back. "Did I hear right that Gardenas is still alive?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean we're straight. As soon as I hear he's poking his head out of whatever hole he's hiding in, I'm gonna – " Jojo finished his drink in a single gulp and then turned back towards the door. "Never mind. Trini wanted me to tell you dinner'll be on the table in ten minutes. We're eatin' outside. The storm has cleared and, if you open the window in Mike's room, we can all eat together an' you'll still be able to keep a check on your friend."

**()()**

_As a spy, there is always a risk that your career choice is going to land you in prison or if you're very unlucky in the hands of some nasty men with a battery and some electrodes with your name on them. Or maybe instead of some good old fashioned physical torture, you might end up in the hands of some guy with a degree in chemistry. Now, I know you think your Special Forces training has prepared you for anything we can throw at you, but here's a little news flash for ya, Westen...You don't know a goddamn thing..._

Michael's eyes flickered under the lids and he took a deep breath. The smirking face of his old CIA training officer was gone along with the rest of the man's long drawn out speech at the start of his course in resisting various interrogation techniques. At the time, Michael had thought the guy just enjoyed seeing his trainees fail.

"_It's only been five days, hotshot. Now, let's start again, in Farsi this time, an' how about at least trying to maintain your cover?"_

It had been five days with barely any time to sleep in between rounds of questioning. His mission: to maintain a cover he had only been given a day to learn while facing a barrage of questions designed to trip him up. So far he had failed to impress Training Officer Card.

Michael was drifting in and out of consciousness. He was aware of his surroundings. He could feel a soft breeze cooling his face and chest. He could hear the swish of the ceiling fan his above his head and he knew he was propped up in a bed. But he couldn't move. It was as if there was a large weight pressing against his chest; it held him still and made taking a deep breath impossible. For a brief moment, he almost lost himself in a wave of panic that came out of nowhere.

"_Hey, Westen, look around. Do you believe you're in immediate danger? Is your life being threatened at this moment? No? Well then, why don't you take the opportunity to rest and build up some strength for what's to come? And hey, here's an idea, how about opening your eyes and using what passes for your brain to see if there's anything you can use to help you escape?- when the time is right."_

Michael woke up, blinking rapidly as his eyes protested at the dim light that filled the room. Unable to lift his hands, it took him several seconds to see through the watery mist that blocked his vision. Finally though, he could see well enough to see he was indeed propped up in a bed, soft sheets covered his lower body, leaving his chest exposed to the light breeze caused by the fan overhead. Frowning, he noticed all the wires running from his chest and torso and then he saw his arms. Bruised flesh covering thin limbs lacking all the muscle and tone he was used to.

_What the hell had happened?_

Glancing around the room, he calmed slightly as he recognized his surroundings. He remembered the room and he remembered Fiona Glenanne sitting at his side, holding his hand and kissing his lips.

It was then he noticed a figure sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, long dreadlocked hair hanging down hiding his features as he sat reading a book by a small desk top light. Michael continued to stare at the man; he looked vaguely familiar. Remaining quiet, Michael studied the man forcing himself to concentrate until it finally came to him. He had seen him with Fiona. As the memory solidified in his mind, he managed to put a name to the face.

"'ill-ee," he slurred the name.

Billy looked up from his book at the sound of Michael's husky whisper. When he saw his patient was awake and lucid, he got to his feet and quickly crossed the room in a couple of strides. "Hey, Mike, how are you feeling?"

Michael watched Billy's approach cautiously. He knew deep down the man was a friend. He had vivid memories of both Fiona and Sam telling him. _"This is Billy. He's a friend."_ But he still couldn't fully trus this own judgment. Dr. Vincent's voice was now only a tiny whisper in the back of his mind, but he could still hear it. _"None of this is real, Michael."_

"Where?" Michael ignored Vincent's whispers and Billy's question and instead asked a couple of questions of his own. "Where – we? Where's Fiona?" He struggled to speak. His throat was dry and the weight pressing on his chest was making hard to speak and breathe at the same time.

"Fi's sleeping. She'll be here as soon as I call her and we're staying with a friend of hers called Jojo," Billy answered as he studied the readouts on the monitors placed behind the bed.

Michael nodded and then asked his next question. "What – happened – me?"

Billy continued to stare at the monitors. This was the question he wanted to steer away from. Michael looked calm and the readouts on the monitors all confirmed his patient was relaxed, but he knew that could change in a second if another seizure began.

"Fiona dragged me out of my home under false pretenses to look after you. All I know is that you're seriously ill and need to rest."

Michael nodded again. He knew it wasn't the whole truth. He felt like he had been hit by a truck and there was all the weight he had lost. Suddenly, a breath hitched in his throat as he realized he had very little memory of – , well, anything. Oh, he had jumbled up knowledge of his past, but no idea what was true or false as one event was contradicted by another.

"Hey, Mike, stay awake."

He hadn't realized his eyes had closed and he had begun to slip back into the comforting darkness where there was no confusion or pain.

"I– " he went to speak, but as he opened his mouth, a straw was slipped between his lips.

"You need to build up your strength. I'm sorry, it's other vanilla flavored drink. But it's packed with calories, so it'll help you regain some of the weight you've lost." Billy explained as he held the carton and the straw in position so his patient could drink.

Michael took a sip, finding once he started to swallow the sweet tasting fluid he wanted more. But after only few sips, his stomach began to protest and he stopped. He raised a hand weakly and turned his head away.

"Okay, go back to sleep." Billy didn't push any more of the drink on him. The most important thing for the time being was that he was at least taking some nourishment.

Putting the carton aside, Billy changed over the empty bag of saline for a full one and added a low dose of a sedative and another of painkiller to the I.V.

It was as he started to make his way back to his chair that the door opened and Fiona came inside.

"Trini is serving dinner. She says if we open the window, we'll be close enough to hear if Michael wakes up." As she spoke, she made her way over to the bed, her hand stroking along Michael's cheek before her fingers trailed upwards to comb through his hair. "I said I wanted to check with you first. I mean, he needs watching all the time right?"

Billy came over to stand on the opposite side of the bed, checking the readout from the monitors again. "Yeah, he needs watching. He woke up a little while ago and seemed pretty lucid, but – "

"He was awake? Why didn't you come an' get me?" Fiona demanded.

"He was only awake for a few minutes. I thought it was more important that he hadda drink than a visitor – sorry."

Fiona tore her eyes away from Michael at the medic's stinging reply. "You got something to say, Billy?"

"No," he paused and then sighed. "Yeah, look it's no big secret I don't like crowds an' it's getting pretty crowded around here. You go an' eat and then either you or Sam can take the nightshift."

"We'll be just outside, if you need anything." She turned away from Billy and leaned forward to lay a soft kiss on Michael's forehead, one hand cupping his cheek as she let her gaze wander over his features.

"I'll get somebody to bring you something to eat. I'm sure Jojo already knows what an unsociable bastard ya are." She stood up straight, giving him a friendly smile.

"Yeah, well I maybe unsociable, but I'm not the one who has been pointing a gun at one person or another every day for the last week," came his sharp reply.

Fiona tilted her head to the side, thinking over his words. "Not every day Billy. In fact, I'd been thinking it's been a slow week." With that she sauntered out of the room with a pleased grin lighting up her face.

**()()**

After Jojo had left the room, Sam had turned his attention back to the files. He'd only managed to make his way through six of the twenty or more folders spread over the table and his head was already throbbing after only three hours of translating the foreign intelligence reports. Squinting from eye strain, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose trying to relieve the built-up tension.

Once he was no longer seeing double, he turned his attention to the thin pile of papers, which after reading through, he thought might hold something of value. Markov had used several US based companies for his supplies, which for a FSB sanctioned mission struck Sam as odd. So once Jojo got him the promised computer, he would spend some time checking the companies out to see if there was any connection between them all.

In a separate, even smaller pile was his own handwritten notes on everything he could remember about Henry Berman. The munitions factory owner was on his third wife with a total of five children, the oldest in college and the rest in private schools.

As Sam had put down the details, he began to realize that the man's lifestyle made him a dream asset for any covert operative. The guy was short on disposable income, but tried to live like some sort of rock star: days out at the racetrack, visiting expensive bars and restaurants and then there was the blonde girlfriend as well as the wife and ex's. A sudden thought came to him. Before tidying up all the files, Sam scrawled a note to himself on the first page of what he was already calling the Berman Dossier: _Check out the girlfriends._

Once everything was put away back in the boxes, Sam headed outside to where he could hear the clatter of plates and cutlery being laid out.

Stepping onto the veranda, he was struck by the peacefulness of the place. With the passing of the storm, the night air was already turning humid. On the other side of the fly screens, the insects were out in full force, buzzing against the tightly woven net barrier which kept them at bay. Sam paused to take a deep breath, breathing in the strong scent of the night blooming jasmine which was growing up and around one of the support posts, and to listen to the sound of waves softly lapping against the shoreline far below.

Looking along the covered veranda, his eyes lighted on a little scene playing out before him. A smile slowly broke through the grim, straight line that his mouth had formed as soon as he read Henry Berman's name as he took in the sight of Fiona Glenanne being mooned over by a teenage boy who he guessed was JJ Delaney. It was just too sweet for words as she graciously accepted the glass of white wine he offered her, his hand lingering on the glass just a little longer than necessary.

"Hey, Sam, c'mon man or yer gonna miss out on Trini's chicken in black bean sauce," Jojo called out for him to hurry up.

At the table Sam sat down and almost immediately Trini handed him a plate piled up with food. "Eat up an' you can have some home-made Mojito cake. Fiona suggested it. She said it was your favorite."

Sam lifted a forkful of the rice and sauce and savored the taste of the spicy meal. "Delicious, Trini. Thank you. Jojo, you're a lucky man." It was only as he took his second bite that he noticed the yacht's crew was nowhere in sight nor were the two youngest Delaney children.

"Hey, where is everybody?" He looked around.

"As soon as the storm let up, my crew went into Isla for a night out. They're gonna crash in my store down town an' the little ones are in bed. So, it's just us tonight," Jojo explained.

With the meal finished and a feeling of quiet well-being settling over the group, Sam began to worry about Fiona asking about his afternoon of research. He already felt as guilty as all hell and he didn't need a little Irish terrorist to tell him how badly he had fouled up. He sat back in his chair and surveyed the group, Fiona looking the most relaxed he had seen her since Michael's disappearance, Jojo with his arm resting across Trini's shoulders as she leaned into her husband's embrace and JJ with his elbows resting on the table while he gazed at Fiona with adoration in his eyes. Sam decided it was a good time to quench some of his curiosity about Jojo and Fiona's relationship.

He saw it as a win-win scenario. He would either get his answers or Fiona would maybe give him a black-eye before storming off at him prying into her personal life. Either way nobody would be asking him any awkward questions.

"Hey, Fiona, how about telling the story of how you two met up?" He leaned back in his chair and grinned.

His smile grew wider when JJ suddenly sat up straight and sent pleading looks first at Fiona and then at his father. "Oh yeah, Pa, please! You always said I wuz too young but I'm seventeen inna couple of weeks an' you let me go on that cigar run with Luca last week."

Fiona glared across at Sam, before a look of sadness crossed her face and she turned to give Jojo and small nod of consent to tell the tale.

Jojo shifted in his chair, one of his hands stroking through his wife's long hair while he locked eyes with the woman sat next to his son. Just for a moment, it appeared as if he was holding a silent conversation with Fiona. But she remained calm and relaxed and he took that as consent to start the tale.

"The first time I saw that little firecracker was just before Christmas. What do you reckon it was? Two years ago? I wuz at Benny's place...It wuz getting real late and you walked through the door like you owned the place," Jojo smiled at the memory. "You gotta know, Benny's is right out towards Homestead an' it's a gunrunners bar and Fiona there comes strutting inside dressed like some South Beach socialite."

Fiona was smiling at the memory, remembering the looks on the faces of both the men and women when she entered the dimly lit dive on her own and dressed in a slinky grey designer number that was held up by a single strap over one shoulder. She had been pretty drunk that night, thanks to Michael emptying some of his share of the saki they had been drinking earlier back into her glass when he thought she wasn't looking.

"An' your Uncle Matt," Jojo was telling JJ the rest of the story. "Decided to go invite the little princess over for a drink."

Sam winced at this comment. He didn't have to guess at Fiona's response to some drunk gunrunner slobbering over her. He had seen first-hand how she dealt with unwanted attention. Apparently, JJ had already guessed the result because, before his Father could continue, he leaned forward, his eyes shining with anticipation.

"Is that when Uncle Matt broke his leg?"

"Your Uncle Matt, thought the best way to make friends was to put his hand up my dress," Fiona informed the youth, her expression serious as she stared into his eyes. "You wouldn't do anything like that, would you JJ?"

Sam smiled as the teenager blushed and dropped his gaze. "No, ma'am, Miss Fiona, I'd never – " Then the young man looked over to Jojo as another thought came to him. "Hey, what did you do Pa? I mean, Uncle Matt wuz on crutches fer eight weeks."

Jojo took a long drink of scotch before answering. "As soon as Matt made his move, Marcus Dwyer stepped over and told me who she wuz. But by the time I got over to the bar, the damage was already done. Matty wuz flat on his back screaming like a little girl and Fi hadda gun in her hand an' a fire in her eyes."

"Your Dad bought me a drink and, after I had made a splint your Uncle Matt's leg, two of yer Da's men took him to hospital with a tale of how they found him laying in the road." Fiona finished the story.

Sam was sure there was a lot more to the story than they were telling, but knew better than to push. He took a look at his watch and sighed. It was time to make his escape. "Okay, then, I'm gonna head inside an' relieve Billy. Fi, I'll take the first shift. Can you take the early morning watch? Trini, that was a lovely meal. Jojo, I can't thank you enough for all this." With a wave of his hand, he walked away.

"Sure, Sam," Fiona answered casually while at the same time placing her empty wine glass on the table.

She watched as Sam limped away. Tilting her head to the side, she quickly thought through how quiet he had been all evening and doing that annoying thing that he and Michael did so well: deflecting attention away from themselves by asking a few well-placed questions to direct the conversation elsewhere.

It was as plain as the chin on his face. Sam Axe was trying to keep her in the dark, probably about something he had found amongst Markov's files. Getting her feet, she managed to hide her displeasure from the Delaneys behind a wide toothy smile.

"Goodnight, Jojo, Trini." She turned to JJ, "Thank you for being such a gallant host, JJ, and, yes, if it's alright with your parents, you can show me round Isla tomorrow."

JJ grinned as she accepted his offer, but the grin soon faded as Fiona added. "We'll take Ria and your little brother Ricky along with us. You know, to give your Mom some time to herself."

With that she hurried after Sam, catching him just before he reached Michael's room. Grabbing at his arm, she brought him to a stop and he faced her warily.

"Hey Fi, what's up?"

He was trying to look innocent, but Fiona was seeing giant guilty bunny eyes staring back at her. Using a rigid finger, she prodded him sharply in the chest, effectively pinning him against the door to Michael's room.

"You tell me, Sam. What have you found that has you so jumpy?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she held him in place by the power of her personality, pinning him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Me? Jumpy? Listen, sister, if I – "

She cut him off with the same hard pointy finger she had used before, this time jabbing him in the forehead, causing his head to smack back against the heavy wood door with a satisfying thud.

"I'm not stupid. You're hiding something from me and I want to know what it is."

In her mind, she she trying to come up with something that could be so bad he wouldn't tell her. Just as she thought the ex SEAL was going to break, the door behind him swung open.

"Thanks a lot," Billy growled. "He was asleep, but now thanks to you two fighting, Michael is wide-awake and asking for you."

For a second, Fiona was torn between going to Michael or finishing what she started with Sam. But then the decision was taken out of her hands when Sam took advantage of her indecison and slipped away from the door.

"I tell you what, we'll swap. You go sit with Mike and I'll come relieve you in a few hours. Nite, Fi, Billy." And he was gone, crossing to the other side of the hall and entering his room, quickly closing the door behind him.

Fiona paused before following him, only stopping as he slammed the door in her face.

**A/N: You can find the full story of Fiona's first meeting with Jojo Delaney in ****Firecracker ****posted on the M- rated page.**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twenty Six**

The only light in Michael's bedroom was coming from the soft glow of a reading lamp set up on a shelf above where Billy Clemens was slumped down in a comfy armchair. Behind him the window was opened just a crack, allowing some fresh night air into the room. The soft muffled murmur of conversation from the group eating out on the veranda had died down and now the only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves creeping up the beach far below Jojo's house.

The noises of the sea and the buzzing of the insects on the other side of the fly screens protecting the veranda reminded the medic of his home and the quiet life he had found for himself on Sugar Loaf's shores. The occasional job patching up injured smugglers and gunrunners supplied all the money he needed to survive. This crazy week spent as Michael Westen's personal doctor had been the longest he had spent away from his tranqil haven in years. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back, enjoying the quiet.

Just as the familiar gentle sounds of the shore were lulling him into a light sleep, Billy heard the uneven limping footsteps of Sam Axe coming along the hall and getting closer to the bedroom door; then shortly afterwards the sharp staccato clatter of Fiona Glenanne's high heeled shoes giving chase.

Letting out a long deep sigh, Billy sat up straight and pulled his hair back off his face. Hopefully one of the pair was coming to relieve him so he could enjoy the pleasure of lying down in a proper bed. His hopes were dashed as suddenly something heavy hit the bedroom door with a thud. Wincing not only at the sound, but also because he saw the sheet covering Michael shift as his legs twitched at the sound.

"_Goddammit! Don't they ever get sick of it?" _he hissed angrily as he got to his feet.

Reaching the bedside, he cursed inwardly when he saw Michael's eyes were wide open and his breaths were becoming more forced than normal. Before Billy could do any more than glance at the flashing digital displays on the monitors behind the bed, another louder sharper thud sounded against the door.

This second attack on Michael's senses broke the tension and he gasped loudly and his body began writhe as he struggled to get out of the bed. His hands clutched weakly at the sheet, trying to throw off the thin piece of linen holding him captive, while his head turned one way and then the other as he frantically searched the room.

"Fi! Fiona! Where – is she?" he gasped. "I – I won't go back..I wanna – wan."

"Mike, hey, look at me." Billy gripped Michael's shoulders, trying to get his patient to look at him, but he could tell he was already too far gone to listen to reason.

The medic released his patient and took a step towards where he had a syringe already loaded with a sedative just in case of an emergency. He held it in his hand, but then put it back down. Injecting a patient with breathing problems with a drug which could suppress his respiratory system was not the way to go, not when the answer to Michael's agitation stood on the other side the bedroom door.

Leaving the medication on the table, he took two extra steps and he was at the door. Throwing it open, he glared at the two people in the hall.

"Thanks a lot! He was asleep, but now thanks to you two fighting, your friend is wide-awake and asking for you."

Leaving the door ajar, Billy hurried back to the bed and continued to try to calm Michael down. "She's here, okay? She'll be here in a second."

"She's b-b-been – . Gun – . I want my – gone, she's, he's – " Michael's speech was losing cohesion and in between shallow gasping breaths, he was beginning to babble.

Billy was at the point where he thought he was going to have no choice but to give Michael more sedation and deal with the added risk, when Fiona came into the room her face flushed with anger. But as soon as she locked eyes with Michael, the anger fell away and was replaced with a softening of her features.

"Hey, you're supposed to be sleeping." She tried to smile, but tears were welling up in her eyes.

As Michael continued to struggle, she gently took hold of his head between her palms and leaned forward until her face was inches off his. "I'm here. Nobody has taken me away. Look at me, Michael. Stop fighting and look – at – me."

For a long second, the only sound was Michael's harsh forced breaths and then he made a deep shuddering sigh and became still. His eyes flickered as the panic that had overwhelmed his senses faded away and he managed to focus.

Billy looked away from the couple to stare at the monitors which had been displaying rapidly rising numbers to see with relief that the flashing digits were now making a slow but steady descent back into more normal figures.

"You were gone – I heard – a –." Michael's strained weak voice broke the silence.

"Shhh, you heard me and Sam outside your door. That was all." Fiona kept her hands on his cheeks, frightened that if he lost the contact it would set off another bout of confusion.

Michael creased his brow. The moisture that had filled his eyes was leaking and leaving trails down his cheeks and onto Fiona's hands. "You – have to – go. Stay – safe."

Fiona took the tissue Billy offered her and wiped the tears from Michael's face. She could see he was trembling. His hands fisted in the bed covers as he fought off the after effects of his panic attack.

"I thought you said he was getting better. You said he was lucid," she hissed not bothering to hide her anger.

"He was. But last time he woke up, it wasn't because his friends were fighting outside his bedroom door! I told you before he's both noise and light sensitive. You've seen for yourself what happens when anything startles him," Billy snapped straight back at her and was pleased to see a fleeting look of guilt in her eyes before she turned her attention back to Michael.

Billy watched the way Michael was pressing his cheek into Fiona's hand, seeking comfort from her touch and how the anger had fallen completely away from her features as she soothed him with soft words, their eyes locked on each other as if nobody else was in the room.

Feeling like he was intruding into a private moment, the medic quickly looked away; deciding now was the right time to check he had filled in the time sheet for Michael's medication.

"Billy?" Fiona called softly.

When he looked around, he saw Michael was sleeping again, his chest rising and falling in a steady even rhythm. "You should get some rest. I'll stay with him until Sam wakes up."

"Sure, just give me a shout. Or rather don't shout. Come get me if anything happens. You know the drill. If he wakes up, encourage him to drink and – look, it's just an idea, but nearly every one of his delusions seems to center about you being locked away in prison or that Sam isn't his friend. You should both work on reminding him of things you've done or places you've been; anything that will help him accept that this is all real."

"We've been doing that," Fiona smiled. "You think it might be helping him?"

Billy shrugged his shoulders. "Well, he's getting better, so it can't be doing any harm." He yawned and stretched. "So, if you've no more questions, I'm gonna have a smoke an' then get some sleep."

Once they were alone, Fiona half dragged half carried the armchair over to beside the bed and then went to pick out a fresh drink for Michael for when he next woke up. She looked over the flavors, hoping to find something he would especially like, but nothing came to mind. Eventually, she picked up a strawberry drink and set it down beside the chair, ready to give him as soon as he woke.

Satisfied she had everything she needed, Fiona settled down on the chair and, after kicking off her sandals, she folded her legs up onto the seat and rested her head so she could keep watch on the man sleeping peacefully propped up in the bed.

He was looking better, less haggard, now that his skin had regained a little of its natural color. She leaned forward, unable to stop herself from running her fingers over the growth of stubble on his cheek.

"You're going to need another shave," she whispered, before sending her fingers up to his hairline curling several long strands about her little finger. "And we need to talk to Billy about washing your hair and maybe a bath."

Michael lay still, his limbs slack and relaxed, totally unresponsive to her soft words. With a sigh, she sat back and, after a few minutes, her eyes began to slide close to the steady low hiss of Michael's oxygen line.

**()()**

Sam Axe stood with his back against his bedroom door,breathing deeply. He closed his eyes, waiting to feel the jolt of Fiona Glenanne's dainty little foot kicking in his door. He counted to ten and the door behind him was still intact. Grateful that the call to be at Michael's side was stronger than the urge to bust down a door to get some answers, Sam limped over to his bed and gently lowered himself down. It had been a long day. His body ached from his injuries and his heart felt sick from his guilty secret. He gingerly lay back on his bed and flung an arm over his eyes. He would get some sleep and then try to sort out what to tell Fiona in the morning.

Half an hour later, he was sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. It was no good. He wasn't going to get any sleep; he couldn't sleep until he finished going through the files waiting for him in Jojo's lounge.

Getting to his feet with a groan, Sam left his room and padded quietly back to the lounge. Switching on a light, he dragged the box of documents back over to the table. Sitting down heavily, he leaned down and pulled out the Berman dossier and looked at his handwritten notes.

"_How could I have been such an idiot?" _

He tried to remember everything about the job. It had come to him through a drinking buddy in one of the bars he frequented in North Miami. The place made Sam's favorite watering holes list because it served cheap beer and the waitresses wore skimpy little outfits that left little to the imagination.

His buddy was a retired military intelligence officer he had worked with back in the day. Over several beers and whiskey chasers, Colonel Magnusson had told him about a sweet deal he had just turned down.

"I tell you, Sam, it would have been easy money. My buddy's wife works for this guy Berman and when he said he was looking for a security expert, she told him about me. But my daughter is coming home for a visit and the old ball and chain has threatened to divorce me if I miss another family vacation. So I had to pass on it, damn shame too – Hey, why don't you do it? You're not workin' now, are you? Easy money, buddy, what d'ya say?"

By the end of the evening, he'd had the phone number for Henry Berman in his pocket.

Picking up his pen, Sam thought carefully about what he knew about Colonel Sven Magnusson, _retired_, and realized that he didn't know that much. At least not what he had been doing since the last time they worked together back in '87. Reluctantly, he scrawled Magnusson down on the list of people he needed to follow up on.

Now came the hard part, the part that he had been putting off ever since he had seen the name Henry Berman. He had to write down everything he could remember the man ever saying and what he had said in reply.

An hour later, Sam was slumped forward with his head on the table fast asleep.

**()**

He woke up with a start and groaned, the sudden movement sending a shot of pain through his torso as his bruised ribs complained about suddenly being stretched.

"Huh?" He stared at the figure standing next to him, his tired brain taking its time to remember where he was.

"I gave you a perfectly good bed, Sam Axe. So why are you sleeping at my dining table?" Trini Delaney asked him.

"Er, yeah, well." Sam began to quickly clear away the paperwork. "I wanted to checkout a few things. Ya know how it is, I just lost track of time." He squinted at his watch. "What time is it any way?"

"Six, now you need to clear all this away an' then go back to your bed and get some sleep. That wound on your thigh isn't going to heal if you don't rest it properly." While she scolded Sam, she started laying the table out for breakfast.

"I've gotta take over from Fiona. She's been watching Mike all night." He dropped the paperwork back into the box and got wearily to his feet.

"Uh-huh, an' when wuz the last time _you_ got any sleep? An' I'm not counting fallin' asleep at the table."

Sam stood and tried to think when he had last lain down and got a good few hours rest. He was shocked when he realized it had been days. In all the time they had been at sea dealing with Michael's rapidly declining health and then the storm, he had barely got his head down for more than a few minutes at a time.

"Exactly," Trini said, reading his expression. "Fiona can look after her boyfriend fer another hour, an' then either me or Jojo can take over until Billy gets up." She gave him a not so gently shove towards the hall that led to the bedrooms. "Now, get going an' I don't wanna see you again til lunch."

Too tired to argue, Sam made his way slowly towards his room. As he passed Michael's room, he paused. He could hear Fiona speaking softly and Michael's evener softer replies. He smiled when he realized his best friend was continuing to improve.

**()()**

"Fi?"

As soon as Fiona heard Michael's voice, regardless of how frail and weak it sounded, her eyes flew open.

"Fi – ona."

She sat up, a warm glow of happiness filling her chest. He was calm. He was calling to her.

"Hey," she grinned at him. He had also turned to face her and his eyes were clear and focused. "You're looking better. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I – "

She watched as he lifted his hand and lazily took a swipe at the oxygen mask in an effort to pull it away from his face.

"Leave it alone." She took hold of his hand in hers and, for the first time since they had got him back, she felt smooth supple skin under her fingers; the extra fluid was beginning to have an effect.

His brow creased into a frown. "Wha' happened to me?"

Biting her lip, she looked away for a moment as she struggled to stay upbeat. She knew he was going to keep asking until he got an answer.

"Fi, please, what happened?" he pleaded for an answer.

Nodding to herself, she lifted her eyes to him. "You've been ill, very ill. It was dangerous to leave you where we were so I got a friend to let us stay at his house." She could tell he was trying to read her expression, so she dropped her gaze and picked up the carton of strawberry drink. Puncturing the lid with the straw, she looked back up and smiled.

"Here we go- doctor's orders." She slipped the straw under the oxygen mask and lifted his hand to help him hold the carton.

"You're – lying," he grumbled.

She chose to ignore him. Instead she moved from the chair to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Do you remember when you woke up in that grotty little motel room in Miami? You asked me the same question then. 'What happened,' followed by, 'Where am I' and I said. 'Miami.' Do you remember?"

He was resting back now, as fatigue was taking hold again. His eyes closed as he sipped the strawberry flavored drink. She knew he was still listening to her, so she continued to remind him of their first meeting in Miami.

"You weren't very nice back then. I'd sat with you for two days and then you just up and left, asking me to get rid of your FBI tail. You also promised me a dinner, but didn't call me back. In fact, I had to use several of my numerous skills to find where you were hiding out."

He opened his eyes and then moved his head enough to remove the straw from his mouth. "You put a tracker in my phone," he accused.

"And wasn't it lucky that I did," she smiled happily, realizing he had managed the whole carton. "It twas lucky I was there to take care your neighbor's hired thug for you, too."

"I – could – "

She shook her head. "Ahh, but if you had played the white knight, I wouldn't have met Jojo, whose house we're staying at now."

"I – said – sorry."

"Yes you did," she smirked as she remembered that night. "Several times, as I remember."

The meal in the Japanese restaurant, the after dinner entertainment supplied by Sugar's hired thug had all been leading to her spending the night in his bed. But then his damn spy training had kicked in and he had sent her away with some lame excuse that he needed to get to sleep.

But later, in the early hours of the morning, he had turned up at the remote bar on the way to Homestead where she had gone to drown her sorrows. Somehow, most likely while they were in the restaurant, he had managed to slip the same tracker she had used to follow him into her cell phone without her knowledge. She had been mad at first, but it hadn't taken him long to charm his way back into her good graces. She went to say more, but stopped the words when she saw he was asleep with a smile on his lips.

Sighing, she carefully wiped his mouth with a cloth, and then sat back down. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told her it was six AM. If Sam didn't come in soon, she was going to have to drag his sorry carcass out of bed.

**()()**

Sam caught the end of Fiona's dialogue and, with a knowing smirk, carried on his way to his room. He had known from the first time he had seen Miss Fiona Glenanne, wanted IRA terrorist, bank robber and gunrunner in Miami, that something was going on between his friend and his ex-asset.

The knowing smile she had sent his way when she had come out of the lawyer's office ahead of their target, Pyne, and the way Michael had been so vehement that he was not hooking up with his ex-girlfriend again was all he'd needed to know.

Slipping out of his clothes, Sam lay down on the bed. As much as he had been against the pair of them getting together again, he had to admit it had worked out eventually. Or rather it would work out as soon as Michael realized what everybody else could see.

**()()**

"Fiona?" Trini Delaney entered the bedroom quietly, peering around until she saw Fiona standing by the window, looking out across the veranda and courtyard to the calm blue of the ocean. "Breakfast is on the table, I've come to sit with your friend until Billy has eaten."

Turning away from the beautiful view, Fiona frowned. "Where's Sam? He was supposed to take over. Michael doesn't know you. I don't mean to be ungrateful, but he gets confused."

"Michael is sleeping and Billy will be here soon, so don't you worry." Trini spoke patiently as she made her way over to Michael's side to take her first real look at her injured guest. "I'll keep him safe," she promised, lowering her voice when Michael made a small whimpering noise.

"Why isn't Sam here? Is he alright?" Fiona pressed for an answer.

"I found the poor man asleep at my dining table. He's worn out, Fiona. Did you know he hasn't slept properly for days?"

"None of us have slept, Trini," Fiona paused. That wasn't completely true. Thinking back, she cursed as she couldn't work out when Sam had last had an uninterrupted sleep. "You're right, thank you." She reached Michael's side and leaned forward to place a kiss on his forehead. "I'll grab something to eat and come straight back."

Trini shook a finger at her. "Ah- ah, you're as bad as Sam. You need a break, time to de-compress. No harm will come to him here, and JJ is waiting to take you sightseeing. Tha' boy has been up for over an hour."

"I don't think – You haven't seen how he is when he wakes up and I'm gone." Fiona could feel her heart beating faster at the mere thought of leaving Michael alone. "He needs me."

Inwardly, Fiona was trying desperately to keep her emotions in check. They weren't even officially a couple and right up to his kidnapping, Michael had always put his desire to get back in the CIAs good graces before everything else, including his friends and even his own mother. He had made it totally clear to her that, though he cared for her, she would always come second to his career.

But right now he was helpless; he needed her more than ever. She had seen how her mere presence calmed him and gave him something to hold onto.

"He needs you healthy." Trini sat down in the armchair. "I tell you what, JJ will understand you can't leave the house today. But you still need some fresh air and time to rest. So go have sommit to eat an' take a little time to yourself, go for a walk around the garden."

Her mind rebelled at the thought, reminding her of all the things that could go wrong while she was out of the room, let alone out of house.

"Maybe, I'll see..." She went towards the door, her eyes straying back to the sleeping figure on the bed. _She had never had another person who relied on her so completely, who called out to her when he awoke and nearly lost his mind at the thought of losing her. _Wiping a hand over her eyes, she made it to the door. "I'll be back as soon as I've had some breakfast."

She found the Delaney family crowded around the dining table and the sight of Jojo cajoling a three year to eat up his cereal brought a smile to Fiona's face. As she reached the table, JJ was up out of his chair pulling a chair out next to his own.

"Morning, Miss Fiona. You hadda good sleep?" he asked as he poured her a glass of fresh orange juice. "I think there's still some pancake mix left You wan' some pancakes?"

"No, thank you, JJ. How about a yogurt?"

"Sure, I'll get you one from the fridge. What flavor?"

She thought about asking for blueberry, but then changed her mind. Michael would be ready for more than the meal replacement drinks soon and blueberry yogurt would be high on his list of foods he wanted.

"Peach, or whatever you've got will be fine."

Soon she was tucking into a cup of her chosen flavor and being kept amused by watching one of the top gunrunners in the Gulf of Mexico try to organize a three year old boy and a seven year old girl, who were running rings around him.

"What time d'you wanna go into Isla?" JJ finally asked.

Sighing, Fiona put down the now empty yogurt cup and turned in her chair until she faced the teenager. "My friend is still very sick. I don't think I can leave him today. I'm sorry, JJ."

She watched disappointment play on his features and his eyes dropped to stare at the table top. "Maybe you can show me tomorrow. Michael might be a bit better by then," she added.

She hated upsetting the boy. During his rescue from the mercenary who tried to blackmail Jojo, she had been amazed at his bravery. When she had found him tied to a chair, alone in a small dark room, he had been in obvious agony. His hand had been wrapped in a dirt and blood covered bandage and a deep wound to his face still bleeding and raw. She had known as soon as she saw him that he had lost the sight in one eye and, if she didn't get him to safety, he would die from his wounds. That day she had done something she hadn't done in years; she truly lost her temper and had given her rage free rein.

"Okay." He looked up. "How about you come with us later for a swim in the cove? We'd only be gone fer an hour."

"Okay," she nodded. H_ow could she refuse? _"As long as Michael is resting."

"Great." He beamed and got to his feet. "Dad, can I still go inta Isla? Please?"

"Sure. Be back fer lunch." Then as his eldest son ran from the room, he grinned over at Fiona. "He's goin' down to the dock to watch all the pretty daytrippers comin' over from Cancun."

Fiona's eyes widened. "I'm crushed," she quipped, causing Jojo to laugh.

"I'm sure you are, girl. Now I've gotta get these two troublemakers washed and dressed. Help yer self ter whatever you want."

Fiona went over to the coffee machine and then sat down sipping on the brew and enjoying a few minutes of silence. But the pull to return to Michael was strong. Looking for something to distract herself, her eyes fell on the box of documents Sam had been studying earlier.

Something in that box had freaked Sam out.

She couldn't read Russian, it was pointless looking.

_Really, what good would it do?_

She knelt down in front of the box and began to flick through the documents, looking for anything she could read, anything that wasn't an invoice for printer ink, or powdered milk.

Then she saw Sam's neat hand writing on a piece of paper and then on a second piece.

Before long she had every page of what Sam had titled _The Berman Dossier._

She couldn't move. The page in her hand shook as her hand trembled uncontrollably. Sam's carefully written notes showed a straight line from Markov to this factory owner Berman to Sam Axe.

She lay each page out on the floor in front of her examining the damning evidence.

_How could hide this from her?_

Her first instinct was to rush back to Sam's room and pound the daylights out of him, but she stopped herself. The commotion would undoubtedly disturb Michael.

Gathering up the incriminating pages she got to her feet and, with a look of determination on her face, she moved towards the back of the house.

It was time she had a long, and possibly painful talk with, Samuel Axe.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

Fiona stopped outside Sam's room. In one hand, she held the damning pages which documented Sam's involvement in Michael's kidnapping, while in the other she gripped the handle to the door so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Just as she started to pushed down to gain entry and begin ripping into the ex-SEAL, she paused. Resting her forehead against the smooth wooden surface, she swallowed thickly, forcing down the fiery anger that made her want to rip Sam Axe's head off.

If she burst into the room, there would undoubtedly be a lot of shouting and most definitely some screaming would be involved too, all things which would be bad for Michael. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths before standing up straight and reluctantly backing away from the door.

Michael was always accusing her of going off half cocked. Well, this time she would prove him wrong. She would follow Trini Delaney's advice and go for a walk in the garden to clear her head.

She managed a tight little smile as she stood on the veranda, admiring the large garden and plentiful outbuildings. Maybe afterwards she would suggest Sam take a little walk with her so they could have their overdue discussion away from Michael – and any other witnesses.

Stepping off the veranda, Fiona followed the path way from the house towards the gate which led to the cliff face. With the sun shining and a light breeze easing the humidity, the walk was far more pleasant than their mad dash through the storm that had lashed the island the day before.

Following the path around the edge of the property, Fiona couldn't help but admire Jojo's attention to detail when it came to keeping his home private, high walls with a dense layer of prickly foliage underneath to dissuade anybody from climbing up and jumping over. There were also surveillance cameras set up to cover all the open ground between the perimeter and the house.

Reaching the back of the property, she smiled at the sight of the two youngest Delaney siblings in a large animal pen throwing seed onto the ground for a small flock of chickens. Ria turned and waved to her before having to turn away to catch hold of her brother's hand as he started chasing the hens around the pen.

Feeling a little more relaxed, Fiona continued all the way round the perimeter, eventually making her way back on to the veranda and into one of the bamboo chairs set up for admiring the sea views. The Berman Dossier still weighed heavily in her hand; but she knew until she resolved the matter with Sam that her mood wasn't going to improve. Sitting back, she put her feet up on another chair and began to read the file again.

It was no good. She had barely gotten through the first page when her temper began to rise.

"_How could Sam have been so stupid letting his judgment become so lax?"_ She thought angrily, pinching the bridge of her nose she tried to fight off the effects of a rapidly building headache.

"Not you as well?" Jojo's scolding tone made her jump. Quickly stacking the papers and dropping them onto her lap, she turned to the sound of his voice and smiled.

"What's that supposed to mean?"she asked, masking the signs of her headache behind a bright toothy smile.

Jojo walked towards her with Ricky, his youngest child, sitting on his shoulders with the boy's skinny legs dangling down onto his chest. The boy had several strands of hay in his hair and dirt scuffing his knees.

"Them papers," Jojo pointed to her lap. "Sam was buried in 'em yesterday an' Trini said she found him asleep at the table this morning surrounded by all sorts of documents."

"These pieces of paper hold the clues about who hurt Michael."

"Uh-huh, I gathered that much, but tell me this. Are you gonna leave your fella here an' go off chasin' down the guys who can fire missiles at beach houses?"

"No, not right now, but – "

"But nothin', girl. You should both be resting up. Michael can't be moved and you ain't goin' anywhere wit out him. So chill a bit. You got days to go through all that stuff."

She let out a deep sigh and relaxed back. "You're right. But it's not so easy."

Jojo pursed his lips and stared out to sea, obviously deep in thought before holding out his hand and gesturing for her to stand up.

"Come wit me, girl. I know what you need."

She gave him a questioning look, but when he continued to stare and gesture for her to get up, she soon found herself following him around the veranda and over to the back of the property. Reaching one of the outbuildings she had seen on her earlier walk, she found her curiosity growing when he unlocked the door and switched on a light. Inside there was a stack of wooden pallets and a few empty packing cases. Turning, Jojo shut the door and then lifted Ricky down from his shoulders.

"Over here." He pointed to a large trapdoor in the corner of the shed.

Peering down a steep staircase, Fiona's heart leapt at what she saw at the bottom.

"Oh my," she grinned and followed on Jojo and Ricky's heels into the basement.

The room was approximately fifteen feet wide, but stretched to nearly a hundred feet in length. On the walls were a large selection of different makes and sizes of handguns and on the floor were cases of ammunition. Nearby was a long wooden table with a box holding paper targets and all the equipment necessary for making bullets.

"The place is sound proof," Jojo explained as he walked over to a panel of switches. Pressing one started a whirring noise and a pulley system sprang to life, bringing a target hanger towards them.

"There is a box of targets on the table, plenty of ammo and there must be something on the wall you'd like to play wit'. Go have some fun." He moved back to the stairs. "Remember to turn off all the lights and lock up when you're done."

"Michael? I,should – " She felt the pull to get back to him.

"Trini sent me out to make sure you were takin' a break, so it's all good, an' any how I'm off to drag Billy out of bed so he'll be up soon an' Sam is just across the hall if anything happens in the next hour."

**()()**

While Fiona was off shredding targets with an assortment of weapons, Michael was being dragged back to consciousness by a pounding in his skull and a wave of nausea, which had his stomach turning somersaults. Groaning, he tried to raise his knees a little to ease the ache radiating from his stomach, but his legs felt so heavy, he could do no more than flex them slightly. The effort to move caused his already sore stomach to clench even more and, when he tried to turn his head searching for help, bile began to rise up in to his throat.

"Hey, easy there-here."

He didn't recognize the voice, but right at that moment he didn't care. He was just grateful for the soft hands which cradled his head and the cold touch of the metal bowl which was being thrust under his chin.

"Just a second, let me just take this off."

The mask covering his nose and mouth was pulled away just in time as he began to gag and wretch.

"Take it easy now, you finished? C'mon, lay back, relax."

As soon as he had emptied his stomach, he started to feel a little bit better. Letting the strange woman help him back onto the pillows piled up behind him, Michael slowly relaxed and his eyes slid shut.

As he began slip into a deeper sleep, the soothing touch of a cold flannel stroking across his forehead and around his mouth caused him to stir and moan softly.

"Thank you," he muttered his voice little more than a husky whisper. Opening his eyes, he attempted to focus on the woman at his side.

The sunlight coming through the window was bright enough to make him squint and his eyes to fill with water. Through a misty haze, he could just make out the image of a tall dark skinned woman with large dark brown eyes and long black hair which was tied loosely to hang over one shoulder. She wasn't dressed like any of the nurses he was used to seeing or like Fiona Glenanne who was appearing more often when he woke up.

Dressed in beige capri pants and a sleeveless green blouse, she also wore a thick gold necklace and fancy gold earrings which twisted and spun as she moved, catching the light and dazzling him.

The flashes of light made his head spin and he gasped as a sharp needle like pain shot through his eyes. For a moment he thought he was going to be sick again and then, all of a sudden, he caught the strong smell of stale tobacco and the heavy sweet scent of a floral air freshener. Along with the smell came a comforting sight as the room shimmered and then settled.

He knew where he was. He recognized the old faded mismatched furniture, the cracked window covered with duct tape from where his best-friend, Andre Watkins, had thrown a football and his kid brother Ricky had missed the catch. Glancing around, he smiled at the photographs hanging on the wall. Most of them were of Andre and Ricky, but there were a few of him and Andre and even one of him, his own little brother Nate, Andre and Ricky at the beach.

"Michael? Michael, are you alright? I'm goin' to get Billy."

Frowning, Michael turned to the strange woman. What was she doing in his friend Andre's house?

Blinking rapidly he tried to clear his vision as his eyes started to lose focus again. The woman with the long hair and capri pants was gone. In her place was somebody he hadn't seen for years, short, tightly curled hair, brown eyes framed by long false eye lashes and purple eye shadow and a brightly painted mouth with a lit cigarette dangling precariously from her bottom lip. He would have recognized Mrs Watkins anywhere; she hadn't changed one bit. She was even wearing the waitress uniform from the diner she used to work at during the day.

"Miz W, Billy got killed inna street fight, 'member?" He looked around. This had been like a second home to him.

"Michael, you're sick. Lay still and I'll get B – your doctor. Just stay there."

He managed to grab hold of her wrist. "No. No. Stay. I don' need a doctor. I – I jus' need ta rest a bit. That's all."

"You're sick, Michael." He stared at her lips, watching the cigarette bob up and down as she spoke. The sight always intrigued him. How the hell did she manage not to drop it?

But there was something more disturbing. He could see her lips moving, but her voice seemed to be detached as if he was hearing her speak through a phone line.

"I'm not sick. I – " He couldn't remember. "Please, just stay with me."

"Okay, but you have lay quiet and rest."

He nodded, satisfied that he was safe. Letting go of her wrist, he reached out for her hand and closed his eyes. "I never said thank you." He spoke softly his voice, barely more than a whisper. "You saved me, did you know that?" He grinned. "Saved me from turnin' inta my Dad."

"Shhh, go to sleep, Michael."

"D'you 'member when you tol' me I needed ta get away from Miami, that it was too late for 'dre but I still hadda chance?"

His mouth was beginning to feel numb, as if he had been to the dentist and the room appeared to be getting dimmer as it was becoming harder to stay awake.

"We fought before I left. Did he tell you that? I got in his face 'bout joinin' the gang." He tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze.

"Michael, I really think I should go get somebody."

"S'okay, I'm fine." He tightened his hold on her hand. "I went straight to the recruitin' office an' got the papers. You know, for years I thought they both jus' signed cuz they wanted me gone. My Ma put me straight on that. She did it all an' kept him in the dark. She's changed now, you know? She's not such a pushover anymore."

Tiredness was dragging him back into the darkness. Fighting to stay awake, he blinked and turned his head as if to shake off the fatigue. "Is it okay if I stay here tonight? Jus' 'til my dad passes out."

"Only if you go to sleep."

"Sure thing, Miz W. I tol' 'dre -" His voice faded, as speaking became more difficult. Making one last effort to stay awake, he quickly fell back into the darkness.

**()()**

When Fiona left the bunker, she felt so much better. Emptying round after round into the paper targets which she had named after Viktor Markov, Henry Berman, Management and several older and now dead enemies had helped to brighten her mood. On her walk back to the house, she found she had gained a new perspective on things.

Markov and his mystery benefactor were the enemies of the moment. Going in all guns blazing at Sam Axe was only going to divide their team. She would still make him pay for his lapse in judgment and for keeping information to himself, just not right now.

She grinned. That would be the fun part. He was always harping on about teamwork and now he had been caught going off on his own.

As she made her way back to the house, she was warming to her theme. It wouldn't give her the same level of satisfaction that beating the big mouthed, beer swilling, FBI informing ex-SEAL to a pulp would, but with Michael out of action, she was woman enough to know she couldn't do all on her own.

Her smile changed to an outright malicious grin; she had just the thing for him, it would right in so many ways. By the time Fiona was stepping onto the veranda, she felt so much better. There really was nothing that a gun and a plentiful supply of bullets couldn't solve.

Entering the cool of the house, she headed straight for the bedrooms. She had been away from Michael for too long already, but Jojo's shooting range had quelled her temper and allowed her to think a bit more clearly. She would spend her time helping Michael regain his strength and as for Sam, she would split her time between caring for Michael and educating Sam on the dual tasks of keeping his mouth shut when with his so called buddies and learning to share any new information he came upon with her.

She reached the door to Michael's room and was surprised and gladdened to hear Michael's voice.

"We fought before I left. Did he tell you tha? I got in his face 'bout joinin' the gang." He sounded weak.

"Michael, I really think I should go get somebody."

Fiona could hear the concern in Trini's tone. Biting down on her lip, she prepared to enter the room, but his reply caused her to freeze on the spot.

"S'okay. I'm fine….. I went straight to the recruitin' office an' got the papers. You know, for years I thought they both jus' signed cuz they wanted me gone. My Ma put me straight on that. She did it all an' kept him in the dark. She's changed now, you know? She's not such a pushover any more… Is it okay if I stay here tonight? Jus' 'til my dad passes out."

He was hallucinating again, this time about his Father.

"Only if you go to sleep."

"Sure thing, Miz W, I tol' 'dre -"

Just as her hand closed on the door handle, a noise behind her caused her to whip her head around and before Sam could go back into hiding, she spun and got her foot in the door, stopping him from blocking her entry into his room.

"Sam," she spoke through gritted teeth. She was doing her best to control her temper. _Think of Michael, think of Michael, think of Michael,_ she kept up the litany in her head as she stared at Sam's guilty face.

She continued to glare while he backed away.

"Care to explain?" she hissed, throwing the offending pieces of paper at him.

He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips and held up a hand as if to ward her off. "First off, I knew nothing about Henry Berman other than he was in need of somebody to tighten up his security and he was willing to pay for my expertise."

She just kept staring at him with her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth fixed into a thin straight line.

"It was just like every other job I've taken since arriving in Miami." He threw his hands up and turned away. "Hell, lady, I've been racking my brains trying to figure out if I said anything or did something that -"

"Shush!" She took a step towards him.

"What?"

"Shush! Michael is sleeping and we're supposed to keep the noise down, remember?"

Sam nodded and leaned back against the wall. Rubbing his hands over his face, he finally looked up. "The job came through an old friend. He's sent me jobs before and I only took it because you and Mike were trying to chase down the bank Victor was using."

She could see that he was beating himself up far worse than she could do, especially given the circumstances. But she wasn't going to let him off that easy.

"So, all these buddies of yours and employers, what do you tell them about us? About Michael?"

It was as if she had kicked him. "Jeez, Fi, do you really think I blab about what we do? Or talk about you and Mike?"

"So, what did you and this Berman talk about? You must have told him something!"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing, we talked about my time in the Navy, nothing confidential, about Miami and – " His speech faded away and he paled.

Fiona jumped on his change of demeanor immediately. "And?"

"And where I hang out- I talked about Carlito's and that little grocery store near the loft -"

"Where they took him," she finished his sentence as she stormed across the room to where he stood. The sound of the open handed slap sounded loud in the room, Sam's head rocked back from the blow. "How could you?"

She was a good seven inches shorter than him, but her aura and force of personality made her his equal. Backed into a corner of his room, Sam could do no more than stare into her eyes.

"I – I didn't- it was innocent round the water cooler talk. Don't you ever just have a conversation, you know? Where you went the night before, whose gotta a special offer on Oooof!"

Fiona cut his explanation off with a punch to his still sore ribs and then turned away to begin pacing back and forth, furiously trying to regain some level of calm.

"It was small talk! How was I supposed to know an American arms manufacturer was working for the FSB?"

She came to a stop in front of him, jabbing him in the chest with a rigid pointy finger. "I want to know every single detail of that man's life so when we get to Miami I can tear his world to pieces."

"Sure thing, Fi," Sam nodded, "I'm just waiting on Jojo to get me some internet access and I'll be on it."

"Good." She let out a long sigh. "You're going to have to take a trip into town today. Barry is arranging to send some money to 'Charles Finley's' bank account and he's also arranging ID's for us all in the name of Finley. He said he knows a guy in Cancun who'll sort us out. We'll have to go over there in a few days to pick them up."

"You want me to go into Isla?"

"Don't whine," she snapped. "One of us has to stay with Michael while the other goes and sorts out our money problems and gets Michael something to wear and I'm volunteering you."

She watched with narrowed eyes as Sam's mouth opened and closed as he went to argue but then thought better of it. With a satisfied smirk on her face, she turned and made for the door. "I'm going to check on Michael. Come see me before you go into town and I'll give you a list of things to buy."

Leaving Sam, Fiona crossed the hall and quietly opened the door to Michael's room. Trini was sitting in a chair next to the bed, reading a magazine while Michael appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

"Hey." She kept her voice low as she crossed the room to Michael's side.

"Fiona." Trini got to her feet with a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you're here."

"How is he?" Fiona glanced at the monitors. As far as she could tell, everything looked good.

"He came around for a little while. I think he woke because he needed to throw up. It looked like one of those drinks Pilar left for him and then he started talking, calling me Miz W, and speaking about somebody called 'dre? Does that mean anything to you?"

Fiona stared down at him, biting on her lower lip. He looked so peaceful. His features were relaxed and his mouth slightly open behind the face mask. " 'dre is Andre Watkins, his best friend at school. Miz W must have been what he called Andre's mom." Fiona lifted her eyes to Trini. "He must have mistaken you for her... I thought he was getting better. Billy told me -" she broke off her words and picked up one of Michael's hands.

Rubbing a finger over the back of his hand, Fiona marveled at how normal the skin felt. It was soft, pliant and warm to the touch. The bruising had spread out, but was fading from purple and reds to yellow and green. In a few more days, it would be gone completely.

"He's looking better." Fiona looked up at Trini, as if seeking reassurance. "This was just a setback. That's all, a just setback."

"Maybe he drank too much? There's bound to be the odd setback. He is a lucky man to have someone like you helping him through this."

Fiona nodded. Trini was right; there was bound to be setbacks. He had drunk the whole carton. She would make him take his time with the next one.

Biting down on her lip, she suddenly felt a rush of fear. _What if they were wrong? Maybe it had nothing to do with how much he had drunk. Maybe there was something else going on, something they couldn't see. They needed the results of the blood tests!_

She would add that to the list of things for Sam to do in Isla. He would have to go to the clinic and use what passed for charm to get that woman doctor to push for the results. Michael could have internal damage that needed urgent treatment or even worse, what she couldn't—no, wouldn't- let herself think about: he could have brain damage from the drugs Markov injected into him and the seizures.

"Michael," she sighed his name, watching him closely as he lay so still. _Would he ever be her Michael again?_

Tracing the line of his jaw, her fingertips ghosted over the dark stubble covered skin. _And if somehow by the grace of God he did recover and regain himself, how long after they had found and punished those who had harmed him would it be before she would lose him again to his quest to get back into the good graces of his old bosses?_

Fiona was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she was only dimly aware of Trini Delaney exiting the room. The soft click of the door being closed drew her eyes away from her lover for a brief second before she turned back to him.

Leaning over him, she gently combed his unruly hair away from his forehead. Placing a soft kiss on his brow, she tried to stop the moisture that was filling her eyes.

"Please, come back to me, Michael, please."

She swallowed hard and wiped away the errant tear that had splashed onto his cheek before tenderly kissing his forehead again. "Even if it's only for a little while."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

Fiona was lost in her thoughts, sitting beside Michael's bed, holding his hand between both of hers. _Brain damage, liver or kidney failure_, she hadn't meant to let her fears take over. She had kept them locked tightly away ever since Billy Clemens had first mentioned the possibility when they had been holed up inside Veronica's beach house on Key West. But now the doubts were creeping through the gaps in her confidence.

She wiped away a stray tear from her cheek and sniffed. Studying his sleeping form, she had to admit that in many ways he did look a little better, but if he started to throw up every time he ate or drank, the improvement wouldn't last.

At the sound of the door opening, Fiona quickly wiped at her face, hoping to hide any signs of her mini breakdown. Sam entered first, his head bowed and still feeling chasten after their last meeting. She was pleased to see he was ready for his trip into the Island small town. Showered, shaved and dressed in clean clothes, he still looked like he was on vacation but hopefully nobody would question his wealthy attorney cover story.

"Hi, Fi," he spoke softly on his way to the far side of the room.

Behind him came Billy Clemens, looking a little worse for wear. The medic closed the door and turned to his patient. "So how is he?"

"He's been hallucinating again and Trini said he's been sick, too." Fiona sent Billy Clemens an accusing look.

The medic sighed and made his way over to the bed, grabbing a full bag of saline to replace the empty bag hanging on an I.V pole.

"Trini has already told me all about it. I'll give him something to help settle his stomach." He turned to the table holding the various drugs that Doctor Pilar Zedillo had supplied.

"Is that all you're going to do? You said he was getting better!"

"He is. His heart rate has slowed. Look, it's down into double figures and his blood pressure is up; it's a hundred and five over fifty. I've been thinking about lowering the level of oxygen support to see how he coped."

"What about the hallucinations? He doesn't know where he is half the time – " She stopped as her voice cracked.

Billy looked uncomfortable. He hated all the questions to which he had no answers. So instead of replying, he busied himself playing with the dial on one of the oxygen cylinders.

"Maybe we should be honest with him," Sam chimed in. "If he knew what had happened, he might be calmer. It's the fear of the unknown that's making him crazy."

Billy looked up and shook his head. "I don't know exactly what you people are involved in – and frankly I don't want to know. But your friend doesn't need any more stress. If you tell him, I won't be responsible for what happens."

Sam went to answer the medic, but Fiona had heard enough. She held up a hand to stop Sam from uttering a word. "We don't take any more risks with his health. We keep quiet until he's stronger."

"Fiona, I – "

"No, Sam. It's decided." She then turned her attention back to Billy. "Aren't there any tests you can do here to check for brain damage?"

"I can assess him, ask some questions. You know, simple stuff to check his memory and do some hand, eye coordination tests. But he really needs to have an EEG and a CT scan."

She nodded, feeling a little bit happier.

**()()**

"Michael, hey Michael, wake up. C'mon, man, we need you to open your eyes and talk to us."

He felt his hand being squeezed and the light caress of fingertips skimming over his cheek. He reveled in the touch, but he was too tired and weak to respond any further. Besides he didn't want to wake up.

"Michael, please, you have to get up."

This second voice was soft and gentle. It sounded a lot like Fiona, but he couldn't be sure. Fiona Glenanne was neither soft or gentle and she would never plead; it just wasn't in her nature. He tried to retreat deeper in the darkness. He just wanted to be left alone. Moaning softly in protest, he did his best to block out the sound of their voices.

"Michael Westen, open your goddamn eyes or I'll kick your lazy butt out of this bed!"

That was more like Fiona Glenanne, though she wouldn't normally bother with a threat. There had been a time when her way of asking him to wake up and get out of bed would have involved the toe of her dainty boot connecting with some part of his anatomy.

"Lemme alone, Fi," he mumbled, turning his head away from the soft warm breath caressing his cheek.

"Michael, you have to wake up now."

He cracked an eyelid and peered out, but the light hurt his eyes and with another groan, he closed them tightly and tried to turn away. But Fiona wasn't going to give him the chance to fall back asleep. He felt her hand gripping his shoulder tightly, forcing him to remain on his back.

"Billy's closed the blinds, Michael. It's safe to open your eyes." _There was that soft tender tone again._

He realized then that they were not going to leave him in peace. All he could do was to give in and do as he was told. Even with the blinds closed, the light caused his eyes to water and throb.

"There." Fiona sounded happy. He tried to focus on her smiling face. "Billy wants to ask you some questions."

"_Can you answer some questions, Michael?"_ Doctor Vincent's soft tones sounded faintly in the deep recesses of his mind and he shivered.

Slowly looking around the room, he recognized Sam Axe standing at the end of the bed looking pale and concerned. "Hey, Mikey."

"_I'm sorry, Michael. You did work with Commander Sam Axe, but he was never your friend." _

He didn't acknowledge Sam's greeting. Instead his gaze shifted to look up at the slender figure of Fiona Glenanne, who stood beside him with her fingers gently stroking the back of his hand.

"_Fiona Glenanne is locked away in a British insane asylum. She will never be released. You used her and then left without a word. Why would she ever want to help you?"_

He knew that was a lie and, if Doctor Vincent lied about Fiona, he must have lied about Sam, too. By the time Michael had moved on to the only other person in the room, he had managed to push Doctor Vincent's voice away.

"Michael, this is Billy. Do you remember him? He wants to ask you some questions."

_Billy was dead; he remembered telling Andre's mom. Billy Higgins was killed in a street fight—well, a beach fight. It had been during spring break at a party full of college kids in Miami on vacation. They hadn't been the only ones who had decided to gatecrash that night and, in the near riot that ensued, Billy had been slashed in the throat with a box cutter. The sight of blood spraying over the wet sand had ended the fight and when Billy had fallen in a heap, clutching at his torn throat desperately trying to stem the pulsing crimson flow, they had all been so scared. Everybody ran away, everybody except him and Andre. They had been sitting in the sand with their friend's dead body, covered in his blood and listening to the sound of emergency sirens getting closer. Of course his father had been furious with him for staying at the scene and for getting dragged into the resulting police investigation._

"Michael? Michael, what's the matter? Look at me." Fingers captured his chin, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Billy's dead. His mom wouldn't even let us go to the funeral," he informed Fiona in a flat emotionless tone.

"This is a different Billy. This one is your doctor. He's here to help you," Fiona replied unable to hide the crack in her voice.

He frowned, realizing that what she said made perfect sense. Billy Higgins would not have made a good doctor even if he had lived. " 'Kay," he agreed.

Billy cleared his throat and moved around the bed until he stood next to Fiona.

"Michael, I want to ask you some questions... Do you recognize the people in this room?"

Michael looked from Fiona, to Sam and then back to Billy. _What a stupid question. _"Yes," he answered as they all continued to stare at him as if he might break.

"Good, can you tell me their names and who they are?" Billy pressed.

"Sam Axe," Michael nodded to the man standing at the end of the bed. "And Fiona Glenanne." He turned to smile at Fiona and at the same moment he gave her hand, which was still entwined with his, a light squeeze.

"And who are they, to you?"

"Friends – why all the questions?"

But the medic brushed his question aside.

"And where do you think we are now?"

He tried to think back; _they had told him he was sure of it_. "I -," he smiled with relief. "A friend, a friend of yours."

He looked at Fiona for confirmation and she rewarded him with a smile.

But Billy wasn't finished yet. "Apart from the three of us, have you seen anybody else?"

_Miz W, Andre's mom- he had run to her house. He had crashed the Charger. It hadn't been his fault, but his Dad hadn't seen it that way. The old man hadn't approved of his first big criminal enterprise either. If it hadn't been for his mom, he would never have gotten out of the house in one piece._

He felt sick, as a wave of nausea left him in a cold sweat and disorientated. That had all happened years ago. He could have sworn he had been lying on Mrs. Watkins' couch. He had seen her, had talked to her, smelt her cigarettes. But then he remembered something else: she had died in '96. Lung cancer had ravaged her body, killing her within a year of being diagnosed.

"I – I," He couldn't get the words out. _She had been there as clear as day. _"What's wrong with me?" He looked from one to the other, searching for answers.

"Take it easy, Michael, just a few more questions." Billy sat down on the edge of the bed, partially so Michael could see him clearly, but also so he could check the read outs on the monitors. "What do you remember?"

Michael creased his brow, trying to think past the thudding in his head, which beat in time with his heart.

"A – hospital," he answered slowly, trying to remember the details.

The noise of metal grinding against metal filled his ears and his limbs jerked as pain shot through his chest, causing him to gasp: _His mouth hitting the steering wheel, a taser to his chest, the fear of the police finding the guns or his Dad finding out what he'd done, Russian accents as he blacked out, pain, lots and lots of pain._

"Okay, okay, Mike. Let's leave it there." Billy was back on his feet, sliding in front of Fiona to remove a couple of the pillows in his effort to force Michael to lie down.

"I was in a crash. A truck hit the side of the car, m' dad's car." Michael gasped as he struggled to breathe through the pain. He could see it happening, feel it happening to him. Two separate crashes, over twenty years apart were mingling together confusing him.

_The sudden jolt from the impact of another vehicle, the seatbelt pining him in place, the sickening metallic screech of the door being almost torn off its hinges followed by blinding pain across his chest and then darkness, unable to move, stuck in total silence until the demons came – and later the soft calm tones of Doctor Vincent. _

"I'm going to give him something. I knew this was a bad idea." He heard Billy faintly through the rising panic and the loud whooshing beat of his heart.

"No!" Michael's eyes went wide and he grabbed blindly at the arms of those closest to him; it didn't matter if it was Fiona or Billy.

"No, no more drugs." he gasped. "Please." He looked up at Fiona, staring into her worried tear filled eyes. "No more drugs, I'll be good, I'll be good. I – promise, I'll be – "

"Shhh, alright, no more drugs, but you must calm down." Fiona did her best to soothe him. He gripped her hand tightly as she looked up at Billy. "No more drugs. That's okay, isn't it?"

Billy swallowed and ran a hand over his face. "Only if he rests."

Michael sighed and sank back deeper into the pillows, tremors running through his body as a cold sweat broke out on his brow.

"What happening to me?" the words came out so softly they barely heard him.

When nobody answered, he forced his head off the pillow. "Tell me. Tell me, please."

"Shhhh, Michael you have to calm down, I'm sorry." Fiona tried to comfort him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stroked her fingers through his sweat dampened hair.

"I, I'm s-seeing things," he admitted brokenly. "I ca – I'm so tired."

Sam stood up straight and came to Fiona's side, his face set in hard grim lines. Fiona stared back up at him. She knew what he was about to do. But unless she wanted to fight with him in front of an already distressed Michael, there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Mouthing "No" and shaking her head, she glared at him furiously as he ignored her, clearing his throat before beginning to speak.

"Mikey, you're not going crazy... You were taken by a man called Markov. He had you for a month."

They all watched with bated breath to see how he took the news.

"A month?" Michael focused all his attention on Sam, the panicked look gone from his face as he tried to process this new bit of information.

"Yeah, sorry brother, we tried to find you. It just took us awhile."

"Mar – kov? I, I don't remember... What did he want?" He held onto Fiona tightly, images of the car crash, of being dragged out of his car, flitting through his mind.

"We don't know. Information, I guess," Sam shrugged.

"Did I talk? You have to call Dan, tell Dan. Warn him I've been compromised." He tried to sit up, but Fiona held him down easily. All he could think about was if he had talked, then what had he said? _He had to let Dan Siebels, his handler, know. He could have endangered other agents. He had to inform Langley._

"If you don't calm down, I'm going to tie you to the bed!" Fiona glared first at Michael before turning her wrath on Sam. "We agreed to do this Billy's way."

"And I told you he could handle this, if we're honest." Sam held his ground until Fiona dropped her eyes. Then he took a deep breath before addressing Michael. "Dan's not here. It's just us and we need you to get better. This Markov character masqueraded as a doctor called Vincent, but he was really a FSB interrogator. But you held out against him, brother. You won. All this is just the after effects of the drugs he used on you."

Michael blinked slowly, a glimmer of hope raising his spirits from the depths of despair. "I'm not sick? It's just the drugs?" He clung to the hope. _He had thought he was dying or going mad_.

"Yes." Sam lied without batting an eyelid.

He felt like a weight had been lifted off him. _It had all been lies, every word Doctor Vincent told him. _

"I can fight this," he whispered as fatigue pulled him back under.

This time when his eyes closed, he let the darkness take him. It made sense. He had been drugged before during a training exercise. He recognized the sensation.

_He had signed the papers Training officer Card had handed him with barely a glance. He would do whatever it took to get into the Agency. If getting in meant agreeing to let them inject him with chemicals which would make him talk, so he could learn to cope with being captured and interrogated, he would do it. _

_Light headed, his mind slipping from one thought to the next with no sense of order, he had been subjected to interrogation, stress positions and psychological abuse for what felt like days. Afterwards, he had been sick and disorientated for nearly a week._

**()()**

Fiona watched as Michael's breathing returned to near normal and his features relaxed as he fell into a deep sleep. Only once she was sure he was not going to wake up did she free her hand from his and get to her feet.

Then, without warning, her sharp pointy elbow connected with Sam's cracked and bruised ribs. As the ex-SEAL bit back on the yelp, she glared up at him. "Sam, follow me – _please_."

He knew what was coming and backed away from the bed, joining Fiona at the far side of the room. Before she could speak, he held up a hand.

"He was scared, Fi, scared that he was going crazy. He needed to know that this was done to him and that he can fight it and get better."

"He nearly died, no, he did die! On Jojo's yacht his heart stopped. Do you remember that? And what about all the seizures he's suffered? Did you even think that you and your big blabbermouth could have caused another fit? What he needs is rest. He shouldn't be worrying about whose coming after him. That's our job."

They spoke in hushed whispers through clenched jaws, both doing their up most to keep the noise down.

"He's been trained for this, Fiona. You saw it just now. As soon as I told him the truth, he relaxed and stopped fighting with us."

She turned away, angry that she couldn't deny Sam's logic.

"Fine," she gritted the word out, hating having to admit he had a point. "But you'd better be right about this. We'll try it your way, at least until we get the results from the blood tests."

Billy watched the exchange taking place. Sam might be right, but it had been a risky move. Michael was weak, almost to the point where recovery could no longer be guaranteed. The vomiting was a worry. If he couldn't even hold down a food supplement, chances were there was something else going on.

"Okay, people, I have a few things to do to keep Michael comfortable. So how about you continuing this outside?"

**()()**

An hour later, Sam was on his way to the other end of the Island, sitting inside a small electric golf cart next to Jojo Delaney who was at the wheel.

"I tell ya this is the best way to get about." The gun runner grinned as they passed three other similar vehicles on the Rueada Medina, the road which ran the length of the island.

"It might not be the fastest way to get around, but it's the most discreet," he continued over the loud noise of a small plane coming into land at the Island's airport. "The bank is opposite the ferry terminal, so I'll leave you there. I gotta go find my crew an' put 'em back to work. Luckily, while the Josey is stuck at home, I've gotta coupla smaller yachts that'll do fer some local runs."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Sam shifted on the bench seat, trying to find a comfortable position. "The bank manager, what's he like? Is he gonna ask me a lotta questions?"

"Nah, Barry will have smoothed everything over. You can trust the little guy to do his job. He saves me a small fortune every year."

The bank was on the main road, just as Jojo had said, opposite the busy ferry terminal. Climbing out of the cart, Sam wave goodbye to Jojo and then carefully stretched his back and legs. Once he had worked the kinks out, he stood up straight, ran his hands over his hair and walked boldly into the bank.

Fifteen minutes later, he was back out on the street and a very happy man. Barry had pulled out all the stops for them on this one. As soon as he introduced himself as Mr. Charles Finley, he was ushered into a side room and joined by the bank manager, Domingo Garcia, who had a package waiting for him. After promising that if he needed anything else he would not hesitate to contact the bank, Sam was on his way.

The only problem was the five thousand US dollars Barry had organized for them had been converted into just under sixty five thousand Mexican pesos. The package wasn't a discreet manila envelope, it was a steel briefcase with a combination lock.

Feeling a little conspicuous out on the street, Sam was grateful for the H & K semi-automatic Jojo had lent him tucked into the back of his waistband. Looking one way and then the other at the busy streets, he made a tactical decision not to risk the walk the Zedillo Clinic. Instead he crossed over the road to where a line of bright red Island Taxis waited for passengers.

Sitting on the back seat of the taxi, Sam ran through his plan to charm the doctor into putting a rush on Michael' blood tests. He had played Mr. Heartless Bastard too well yesterday. He remembered the female doctor's look of dislike. Somehow he was going to have to change that all around.

It was only a couple of minutes later that the taxi pulled up to the curb and he realized that he had no more time to plan. Paying the driver, he slipped out the cab and stood looking at the plain wooden door with the painted shingle declaring the Zedillo clinic was open.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out to push inside when he heard a woman scream and suddenly several voices were raised in alarm.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

Freezing in place with his hand still on the door leading into the Zedillo's clinic, Sam peered through the gap he had created and realized his day had definitely taken a turn for the worst. Though no where near as bad as it was for Doctor Pilar Zedillo and everybody else who was inside.

Two young men were center stage, one holding a gun in a weak, wavering hand, while his other hand was pressing on his stomach trying unsuccessfully to stop the flow of blood from an obviously deep wound. The second man stood behind Pilar Zedillo, one arm wrapped about her waist holding her tight against his body, while in his other hand he held the blade of a large knife to her throat.

The man with the knife was barking out orders, speaking so rapidly that Sam couldn't understand every word. But from the way everybody else was cowering against the wall, he could guess at what was being said and it didn't look good for the hostages. Slowly letting the door close, Sam stepped back. The two young men were nervous and strung out. He was pretty sure that one wrong move inside that room was going to see the doctor's throat slashed and most likely somebody else shot.

Standing on the pavement, Sam quickly reviewed the situation. The clinic was on a back street away from all the activity of the tourist areas filled with shops and hotels. So at least the chance of somebody blundering into the situation was small, but that didn't mean it wouldn't happen. The way Sam saw it, there was no time to waste. Because as soon as the two young men inside realized they had been discovered, they were going to panic and then people would start dying.

Looking around while he tried to think up a plan of action, Sam headed around to the side of the clinic searching for a back door into the building. Getting everybody out in one piece was not going to be easy and to do it while maintaining his cover in front of the doctor was going to nearly impossible. Mr. Charles 'Heartless Bastard' Finley would have definitely walked away from the scene taking place in the clinic, but luckily Sam Axe was made of sterner stuff.

Rubbing a hand over his chin, he decided he was going to have to sneak inside and wait for the opportune moment to act. First of all, he was going to have to hide the brief case full of money. Checking out the deserted alley, he walked to where an overflowing dumpster stood outside the back of a restaurant and hid the case in the gap between it and the wall.

Next, he pulled out the gun he had borrowed from Jojo and checked the clip. Satisfied that he had the means to stop the two men inside, he went to the back door and quickly broke the simple lock with the blade of his pocket knife.

Slipping inside, he kept low, closing the door silently behind him. He could hear low sobbing sounds from a terrified woman and the angry raised voice of one of the men ordering everybody to remain silent. There were more words, but Sam with his rudimentary Spanish was finding it hard going to make out what was being said.

Creeping closer, he peeked through the swing door of the back storeroom into the clinic and caught sight of a stocky man wearing the white coat of a doctor working nervously on the injured man who was now lying on a bed.

Meanwhile the other man stood guard over everybody else, keeping them in line with a gun in one hand and the threat of killing the lady doctor with the knife still at her throat.

Sam ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. From his present position, he didn't have a clear shot at the man holding Pilar and, without a clear shot, any move he made was likely to get the doctor killed. Resting his back against the wall, he tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling; he needed a plan fast.

Michael would have come up with something brilliantly simple which would have the intruders quickly disarmed, tied up and awaiting the police. Fiona would probably go in there all guns blazing and both men would end up in a bloody mess. But he wasn't a spy or a psychotic little ex terrorist. He had been trained to go in against the bad guys and save the hostages with a highly trained team backing him up. On his own, he could see so many variables, he wasn't sure he could cover them all on his own.

More shouting and then the sound he had been dreading; somebody new had just walked through the main door at the front. He had no more time to think about it, getting quickly to his feet, he lunged through the door his gun raised in front of him.

The man holding Pilar had his back towards the stockroom, but Sam could see from the angle of his arm that he still had the knife to the lady doctor's throat. The second man shouted a warning and the screams of the hostages who had suddenly seen him burst into view alerted the knife wielding man. As he began to turn, Pilar screamed and Sam eyes widened as he saw a thin spray of blood hit the floor. There was no chance of a happy ending now. Given no choice, he opened fire hitting the man in the head, dropping him before he could do any more damage.

With one threat gone, Sam turned towards the injured man, but the male doctor had him pinned down and helpless. Seeing that Sam was covering the injured man, the doctor ran across to where Pilar Zedillo sat on the floor holding a hand to her neck, trying unsuccessfully to stop the flow of blood from a shallow slash across her throat.

Moving over to the wounded man, Sam winced when he saw the extent of his injury. He had seen similar wounds before and knew the man had little chance of survival.

"The – there was four of them," Pilar began to speak, her voice trembling with shock. "B – but the other t – two left. They said it was t- too dangerous that the policia – ." She stared at Sam through wide pain filled eyes. "Mr Finley? What are you doing here?"

Sam could see Pilar trying to reconcile her opinion of the rich and heartless Charles Finley, a man who would let his own brother suffer to save the family name with the man who had burst into the clinic and saved her life.

Sam cleared his throat and stood up straighter hastily, putting his hand behind his back to hide the gun. "I – I came to see if you had the results from my brothers blood tests."

"I see." She got to her feet with the help of the male doctor. "This is my husband, Juan. Juan, this is Mr Finley. I told you all about him and his brother."

Juan Zedillo gave Sam nervous smile of thanks as he held a thick pad of gauze to his wife's wound. "Si, gracias, Senor. Mi esposa, Pilar, I 'ave to -" he gestured as if using a needle and thread all the while trying to direct his wife on to a bed.

"He llamado a la policía, ellos están en el camino," a frightened, wide-eyed woman called out from the receptionist desk.

"Ah," Sam easily translated the receptionists words now the Spanish was coming at a slower rate. However, he hadn't really thought about what he was going to tell the Mexican police when they turned up. So much for keeping a low profile.

"The police could be a problem for me." He followed Pilar and her husband to a side cubicle where Juan was searching for the equipment needed to treat his wife's injury.

Pilar smiled and then winced as her husband began to work. "So, you're not a lawyer?" Sam shook his head and looked a little sheepish. "And your brother is not a drug addict?"

"Correct – but – it is still essential we keep a low profile. Do you think you can do that for me?" He poured every ounce of charm into his expression.

"You saved my life, Mr. Finley, if that is your real name." She closed her eyes and winced as Juan started to sew up the four inch slash across her throat. "Go. Nobody else knows who you are. We'll claim you were some mysterious stranger." She took a deep breath and went very pale as the stitching continued and shock began to settle in. "But we will come out to Senor Delaney's later for a talk and I want to know what is going on."

**()()**

"Here you go. This might be more comfortable." Hands around his head, lifting, pulling and then they were gone.

Michael stirred; the voice had been familiar though he couldn't quite place it. A soft gentle breeze caressed his arms and face and he could hear the faint rustle of leaves moving in the wind.

Was he outside?

His fingers brushed against a cotton sheet and eventually he felt the edge of the bed.

So, maybe not outside.

"_You're taking too long Westen. C'mon, hotshot, use that razor sharp brain of yours and figure this out,"_ Training Officer Card's voice sounded in his ears.

Michael smiled. He had the answers this time. _I know you're not real. I've been drugged, by a doctor. I was rescued by Sam Axe and Fiona Glenanne, my friends_.

"_And how do you know all this, Kiddo?"_

_They told me_, he answered confidently.

"_And you trust them? A terrorist and a disgraced SEAL?"_

_She's not a terrorist and Sam, Sam was never disgraced. They are my friends_.

"_Well, if you're sure... Who else can you trust?"_

_Nobody_. He wasn't even sure he could trust himself any more. But he had to believe that Sam told him the truth; that his present state was caused by a chemical interrogation.

"_Are you sure about that, Westen? You're helpless at the moment. You're going to have to put your trust in more than those two."_

_No_.

"_Fine, so what's your next move, smart guy?"_

_Gather intelligence_. He rifled through his thoughts, trying to find an order to the muddled mess of memories both false and real. A sharp pain shooting through his head warned him he was pushing too hard, but apart from a wince and a groan, he ignored the warning. Instead he pushed harder, determined to follow through on all his years of training.

_First of all, where am I?_ He knew that. Fiona had told him, a friend's house. They brought him here when the first location became unsecure.

More pain behind his eyes and squeezing the back of his neck, yet he continued to push through and like a dam bursting, the carefully thought out questions turned into a flood of queries he had no chance of controlling.

_How secure is this location? Could he trust Fiona's friend? Who had taken him? What resources did they have? Why couldn't he move? How long had he been like this? Fiona's friend, who was he or she? Why did his stomach hurt?_ The questions were coming fast too fast. He couldn't control the flow. With his mind reeling, he gasped and reached out, desperately trying to find something to grab hold of. His fingertips and then his hand closed in on an arm and then came a familiar touch and a comforting hand closing about his, entwining their fingers.

"Shhh, it's alright, Michael. Wake up now, you're safe."

While he fought to gain control, he clung on to Fiona's hand and gradually the loud thudding of his heart slowed and he began to relax. Opening his eyes a crack, he confirmed it was Fiona at his side, her fingers turning red in his tight grip.

"Light," he muttered, shutting his eyes against the morning sun that was streaming into the room through an open window.

"There, we're shutting the blinds. It's safe to open your eyes. How do you feel? You were having a bad dream."

When he next peered out of half open eyes, the room was bathed in darkness. Looking around, he saw the blinds had been closed and the only light coming into the room was coming from a couple of small table lamps. Fiona was at his side with a welcoming smile on her lips.

He went to speak, but as his mouth opened the words of thanks he meant to utter died in his throat.

"_She's not here, you're hallucinating."_

"_I'm sorry, Michael, but she hates you. You broke her heart. She wants nothing more than your death."_

"_Fiona Glenanne will wreck your career. Are you willing to throw everything away over a pretty face?"_

"_If you don't come in, the British are going to out you as a spy and let her take her chances."_

"_Stay here. If you attempt to leave, you'll be shot. Your own people have sent somebody to talk some sense into you. You should count yourself lucky – If you were under my command, I'd have cut your bollocks off months ago. You're a disgrace."_

Out of nowhere, voices from his past filled his ears, Dr. Vincent, Dan Siebels, Tom Card and Richard Chambers, his one-time MI6 handler, scattering every rational thought into the wind.

He shivered; he was cold. The room he'd been left in was cold, dark and dripping with damp, which ran down the old brick walls. He recognized the place. He was in the basement of a MI6 safe house. It was the room usually reserved for prisoners waiting for interrogation. His MI6 handler had escorted him down the steep stone steps to the room and, after his parting shot, had left him alone.

He hadn't left alone for long. He'd heard a door slam and hollow echoing footsteps rushing down the stairs. Tom Card had stormed into the room and he'd been beyond furious with his favorite protégé.

"_Sit down!" Card's eyes were bugging out of his head and his thinning hair, which was normally immaculately styled, was in disarray._

He had paused in his pacing but held his ground in the face of his old mentor's wrath.

"_I -" _He'd wanted to explain his actions, but it had seemed that Card was only interested in his own agenda_._

"_Sit down!" The first loud order turned into a bellowing demand and he had to duck to avoid the plastic chair that flew across the room at his head._

Doing his best not to show how shaken he was by the older man's outburst, he had righted the chair and sat down, all the time his heart thudding in his chest.

"_I've just had a nine hour flight and the whole goddamn way I've had to listen to some prissy Brit intelligence chief whine in my ear about you." Card took a breath running his hands through his hair before turning back to the reason for his mad dash across the Atlantic. "You've repeatedly refused come in, even though your cover is as good as blown. Questions are being asked about Michael McBride by some very angry Irishmen and MI6 is ready to hand you over to them on a silver platter. Can ya explain to me why I don't just have ya put in a strait jacket and sent back home on a Section Eight?"_

"_I -" _He had wanted to explain that he hadn't refused to leave, that he'd just wanted some time.

"_I've heard it all. You want to bring your asset in with you?"_

"_Yes." _He had breathed a sigh of relief at finally being given a chance to give them his side._ "Fiona Glenanne is -"_

"_Is an arms dealer and a bank robber. Her whole family is heavily involved with the Republican Army and you think she will forget about all that and willingly run away with you? Then what? The birds will sing and a heavenly choir of angels will float down to lay blessings -"_

"_No – no I know it won't be perfect but we – I – . We're a good team. She would be a valuable asset to the agency." _He had cut through Card's sarcasm and tried to make him understand that he wasn't only thinking with his heart.

_Card frowned and shook his head. "Let me make this clear to you. I'm not here as a shoulder for you to cry on. Fiona Glenanne comes from a family of terrorists. Her father died in a British internment camp. Her oldest brother was killed during a botched attempt to arrest him, which left five British soldiers hospitalized. The present head of the family, Liam Glenanne, would, if there was any justice in the world, be locked up for the rest of his life for multiple murders. But apparently every time they make a case against him, all the witnesses mysteriously die or disappear. Colin Glenanne is probably considered the black sheep of the family as all he appears to be guilty of is some minor hacking offenses. Then there is Seamus, your gal's partner in crime vis a vis arms dealing, and finally Sean, the loyal para military soldier. Do ya see where I'm goin' with this?" _

Card had told him nothing he didn't already know, he'd shrugged his shoulders and looked down.

"_She's not like that. We've worked together. You know that she's helped me out a lot."_

"_So stay, and when your cover is blown and her big brother has you strung up on a meat hook, what happens then? You've seen what they do to informers. Do you think Liam Glenanne or any of the others could stop dear sweet Fiona being killed?"_

"_That's why you have to give me time to talk to her, to explain."_

"_There is no time. The Brits have had enough of you. They want you gone right now. They want me to escort you out of Ireland or they're threatening to expose you as a foreign agent and have you arrested as a spy."_

"_Arrested? If they do that they might as well sign her death warrant."_

"_Finally, you're beginning to see the big picture!" Card pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. "Look, I get it, I do, really. She's a nice looking girl. Passionate and – not what you're used to. But, away from here, it would never work. She would have to leave everything behind and never come back. Her family would disown her and it would all be for you. Are you ready for that level of commitment?"_

"_Maybe, I -"_

"_I know you, Michael, a wife, - kids. It isn't you. Now, the Brits are making a lot of noise. They're accusing you of going native. You are about to lose your standing not only within the agency, but with the whole intelligence community... You are about to destroy a very promising career and ruin your whole life. Is that what you want?"_

Deep down, he had known Card was right but it hadn't help with how he'd felt.

"_What can I do?"_

"_Leave. You can save your career and her life by leaving without a word."_

It had felt like his heart was being torn out, but he had nodded silently, agreeing to do whatever he could to save her life.

"_Good, I'll arrange it. It'll take a couple of days. You can use the time to clean the flat. Make sure you leave nothing behind. I'll contact you with a time and place for your departure."_

He had been released from the safe house and spent the next two days feeling like he'd been kicked in the guts. He had barely spoken to Fiona because he had been afraid of what he might say. Then when he'd believed he had finally thought of a way which might work, the decision was taken forcefully out of his hands.

"Michael, Michael, you're hallucinating." He felt her hand on his cheek and then on his shoulders, shaking him.

"Fi – Fiona, what?"

The cold damp of an Irish winter left him feeling chilled to the bones was replaced by the stifling heat of the Caribbean and, with his head still spinning, Michael tried to focus on Fiona's worried voice.

"It's alright, I'm here. I know they made you leave." Both Fiona and Billy had heard Michael's side of the conversation. But only Fiona had any idea what he was talking about. Listening to him pleading for them to be allowed to stay together had made her heart beat faster. He had fought for them. He hadn't just run away with his tail between his legs like he had let her believe.

"Fiona," he gasped. "Am sorry. I didn't wanna go. They made me. Your brother, my boss. Am sorry." Still fighting the confusion and pain filling his head, it seemed terribly important that she believed him.

"Shhh. It's all in the past it doesn't matter."

Gulping in mouthfuls of air, it was only then Michael realized the oxygen mask was gone, replaced by simple tubing that looped around his ears and across his upper lip with two tiny prongs sending a light stream of oxygen into his nose. Taking another look around the room, he reassured himself that nothing else had changed.

"Are you feeling better now?" Fiona asked, letting her fingertips trail down his cheek and on to his still rapidly rising and falling chest.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, too exhausted to fight any more. He hated feeling so helpless, yet his every attempt to push aside the pain and weariness was crushed as his mind and body rebelled. For somebody who was used to being always being in command of all his senses, the feeling of loss of control was scaring him more than he cared to admit.

"Think you can manage a drink?" She took the carton of banana milkshake from Billy and directed the straw in between Michael's lips.

He sucked down the sickly sweet liquid, his eyes closing as he willingly surrendered to sleep.

"Don't let him go back to sleep, at least not yet. Hey, Mike, can you stay awake a little bit longer?" Billy shook his patient's shoulder. "C'mon you're not going to get better if you just sleep the day away."

Fiona looked up at the medic. "I thought you wanted him to rest?"

"Yeah I do. But now he's coming round more, he also needs to clear his mind and interacting will help him get back to reality and out of the dream world he's been living in."

"You're right. Every time we talk, he improves. Michael!" she spoke a little louder, shaking him a lot harder than Billy's light touch. "Michael, are ya gonna wake up or do I have ta kick yer ass?"

He opened one eye a crack and looked at her. "You've used that threat before," he mumbled.

"And I'll keep using it until you learn ta listen. Now sit up." She tugged on his arm and, after a huff of complaint, he let Fiona and Billy help him into a sitting position.

"Good. Now, I'm going to leave you two alone. Try to keep him awake at least for a little while."

Left alone, they sat in silence for a few minutes with Michael staring into her eyes before letting his gaze flicker over her features. "You've lost weight? I – I think – I mean." He broke off unable to remember exactly when he last saw her.

"Shhh." She leaned in taking his head in her hands and kissing his forehead, then his cheek. "We just need to go through things slowly and it will come back to you. Let's start with what you do remember." She tried to calm him down.

He laid back, his heart thumping away in his chest as he tentatively shifted through his memories searching for the last time he clearly remembered seeing her. He waited for the stabbing pain which warned he was pushing too far. But instead of pain, he gasped as suddenly a clear image came into sight: Fiona standing in his mom's yard in a long green sundress, her long hair tumbling loosely about her shoulders, the reddish gold in her hair glinting in the sunlight.

At that moment he had thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He remembered the jump out of a helicopter: the rush of air surrounding him, the shock of hitting the water, sinking down under the waves, following bubbles of air back to the surface and staring at the Miami coastline faraway in the distance, knowing he had a long swim ahead of him.

His eyes went wide and he turned to stare up into Fiona's blue green eyes.

"I remember…."


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty**

Clutching onto the briefcase full of Pesos and with his head down, Sam walked hurriedly through the maze of narrow back streets, trying to put as much distance between himself and the Zedillo's clinic before the arrival of the local policia.

Making it back to the promenade, he mingled with the tourists fresh off the latest ferry from Cancun. Hanging around pretending to be interested in all the goods being displayed in the little stores that faced the harbor, he kept one eye out for any cops on the look out for the mysterious gun wielding vigilante who burst into the Zedillo's clinic while with the other he watched for the arrival of his lift out of town.

"What the hell did you do?"

Spinning around, Sam found himself staring into the scowling face of Jojo Delaney.

"Hey." He ignored the expression and quickly climbed into the golf cart. "Where have you been?"

"I had to drive round lookin' for ya cuz of the cops have locked down the doc's place. Is that anything to do with you?"

"Oh, that," Sam answered with an easy smile, searching for a way to explain what he had been up to at the Zedillo's clinic.

"Yes, that!" Jojo snapped as they left behind the town and followed the only road back towards his house at the other end of the Island. "I thought you went in there to make friends. I thought this was supposed to be all low profile!"

"When I got there the docs hadda bit of a situation with a couple of kids with guns and it took good old Chuck Finley to ride to the rescue. They're okay. The lady doc's neck got scratched, but she's on our side now." Sam couldn't resist a chuckle, all the pent up stress he had been dealing with had been released in that one short violent interlude; he was back playing the good guy.

Jojo shook his head in wonder. "I guess it's my own fault to expect anything other than guns and chaos from one of Fiona's friends. I take it you made sure I'm not going to have L'Policia banging down my door."

"I was just a mysterious stranger who busted in and saved the day... Ah, the only thing is the docs are coming out later and I think we might have to give her a few more details than I'd like."

"So, she's figured out you're not a fancy lawyer?"

"Yeah," Sam was still smirking. "Taking the head off the guy about to cut her throat gave that away. How well do you know the Zedillos?"

"Ria is in the same class at school as their boy and Trini is on a coupla committees wid Pilar. If we see 'em out in Isla, we'll stop an' have a drink together. But they don't know a thing about my business, _my real business_. Here I'm just a guy wid a few boats running tourists out to see the whales an' taking dive parties down to the reefs."

Sam nodded as his mind turned trying to come up with a cover with just enough truth that the Zedillos would believe the story and agree to keep quiet. As he ran through several possible stories they could use, he suddenly realized they had another problem.

"I think we could have a problem – Mikey. He's already screwed up, and now we're going to have to get him to follow a cover story."

"Not being funny, but your friend can barely remember his own name. How d'ya expect him to remember some story you've just made up?"

"Let me work on it, I'll come up with something."

The two men drove on in silence trying to work out a story that Michael would be able to remember and that wouldn't add to his confusion.

What the two men didn't know was that back at the house, Michael was awake and already remembering the truth of his situation.

**()()**

"I remember," Michael gasped, as he stared into Fiona's blue-green eyes.

A wave of dizziness came out of nowhere and hit him hard. He fought against it, but to no avail. As his senses reeled, he was left lost and alone to face his fears.

He had thought he was free when he stepped out of Management's helicopter. All he had seen was freedom. The promise of no one pulling his strings, no more, "do as I say or we hurt your family."

All he had felt was a sudden rush of air, followed by raw excruciating pain as he hit the water. He had fallen so far and so fast that the last remaining breath in his body was forced out on impact, just before he sunk below the waves. But he was free; they were going to leave him alone and that was all that mattered. He just had to hold on. Air bubbles swirled all around him and above his head racing up towards the bright sunlight giving him a direction to aim for. He kicked out hard, urging his tired body onwards and upwards.

"_Michael!"_

Gasping, he broke the surface. Drawing in ragged breath after ragged breath, the bright sunlight, so different from the dark of the ocean, was too much for his eyes which streamed with tears. Coughing and gagging, he could taste sea water in his mouth and in the back of his throat.

"I remember," the words were torn from between his lips.

A stabbing pain shot through his skull and all he could see was bright shimmering lights all around him reflecting off the waves, blinding him. He needed to find the shore, a safe place to get his bearings. He spun in circles searching for the familiar coastline of high rise condos and sandy beaches. He wasn't free; this wasn't freedom. He had been abandoned. He was alone and danger was closing in on him from every direction.

There were sharks in the water.

"_Michael, stop it! Come back, come back to me."_

The sharks were circling and he had turned down the only offer of sanctuary he had received. Then they were gone, the perfect sleek predators moving away at speed and he was suddenly aware they hadn't been circling waiting for a chance to attack, they had been protecting him. Protecting him and everybody he lo – cared for. Now it was all on him and he couldn't even save himself.

"I remember." He didn't want to, not any more.

He couldn't stop the bile rising in his throat as his whole world spun out of control. He needed to find shelter. He needed to build defences. He had no time. He was alone, abandoned and unloved; even his own government had deserted him. He was a target for every person and agency he had pissed off over the years. They were all going to come for him now that he was exposed.

He was incapable of protecting himself; he knew that now. If he couldn't save himself, how could he save his friends and family? Fiona... he should never had let her back into his life. He'd had no control over what happened in Tripoli, but after saving her butt in Istanbul, he should have run away. As soon as she threw that first punch, he should have bolted out of the door and not looked back.

And Sam, Sam who had been happy in his retirement, enjoying his down time sipping beer and watching the ladies. What had he done to him? His actions had nearly cost his only friend his pension and how many times recently had he come close to getting Sam killed or injured?

He was gagging, as his stomach clenched and his throat burned. His thoughts spiralled out of control and he sank beneath the waves. Unable to breath, he began to panic. There were ropes and wires dragging him under the water. Hands were pressing on his chest and droplets of water were falling on his cheek.

"_BILLY! Michael! Don't do this! You're safe, I'm here, you're safe! Dammit, BILLEEE!"_

Pain was everywhere, shooting through his chest and down his arms, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Another jolt and everything went black.

"I remember, I -member, I -ber," He mumbled, fighting for a way out of the deep dark abyss that he was falling into.

He remembered pain, loneliness, and being tied down. He remembered how he had begged for the drugs that kept him sane – how he had come so very close to breaking.

He was alone, abandoned, deserted by the country he had served all his adult life. He was falling faster and faster, tumbling out of control. The fear was overwhelming. Fear that if he hit the bottom, there would be nobody left to protect his lo – those he cared for.

"_You're not going anywhere, Michael Westen. You think I'm just going to let you walk out on me again?"_

His head was rocked to the side, sending a ripple through the obsidian waters which surrounded him.

"_After all we've with been through! After all you've put us through? Damn you, you selfish bastid!" _

A second harder blow to his chest was followed by a third and a fourth.

"_That's enough! – Enough, it's o-kay. It's o-kay." _Soothing words, as the pain fell away and he let the darkness take him.

**()()**

Fiona staggered across the room and fell back against the bedroom wall, sinking down until she was on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably as the shock of what she had just witnessed threatened to overwhelm her. Blinking away the tears that filled her eyes and overflowed to run freely down her cheeks, she waited to hear the news she was dreading.

Only minutes earlier, she had cupped Michael's cheeks and leaned over to place a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"Shhh. We just need to go through things slowly and it will come back to you. Let's start with what you do remember."

He had stared up, focusing on her face. His eyes had been clear and opened wide as he tried to remember when he had last truly seen her. She had seen his frown of concentration turn to a spark of what had to have been a happy memory – just before the storm broke.

"I remember."

The words had come out in a gasp and a look of horror had flashed across his face. Then moments later, the little color he had regained had drained away and his breathing, which had been shallow and regular, had changed as he'd started to hyperventilate.

Calling out his name, she had tried to calm him down by taking his hand in hers, but it was all to no avail. It'd been obvious he was unaware of her presence as he had begun to twist and turn wildly, his legs thrashing under the bed covers, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on his face and chest.

"I remember." The words had been forced out as his breathing had increased to an alarming level.

His face had screwed up in pain while his jaw clenched so tightly she could hear his teeth grinding together. She had been sure he was dying. She had begged him to stay with her, but his struggles had become more and more frantic and he'd lashed out erratically, managing to tear the from his arms and the nasal cannula from around his ears.

She had done her best to hold him still and, for one brief second, he had locked his tortured gaze on her.

"I remember."

He'd begun to gag and cough and then had curled in on himself, the fight leaving him as he weakened, his limbs trembling and twitching from the effort he had used. He was fading before her eyes.

She had screamed out for Billy Clemens, unwilling to leave Michael's side, his blood dripping from the catheter sites on his arms. His body had been covered by a thin sheen of sweat and faintly she'd heard him mumbling the same two words over and over again. Then just when she'd thought it couldn't get any worse, his breathing had appeared to stutter and then stop.

When he finally went silent, she had lost all control. She had been sure he was dying. She had struck out, slapping his cheek so hard his head had been jerked to the side and then pounding on his chest, desperate for some reaction, a flinch, a moan, anything to remove her fear.

She hadn't realized Billy had entered the room until he had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away. It spoke to the level of her grief, for instead of turning to rain down blows on him, she had given up the fight when he let her go and crumpled in a heap to the floor.

With her arms wrapped around her torso, she remained on the floor rocking back and forth, remembering the first time he had left her without the decency of a proper goodbye or even a note. Remembering her pain then was no match to what she felt now. They had come too far for it to end like this. She was falling apart and she didn't care.

"Hey, Fiona, it's alright now. Honest. Look, he's sleeping," Billy called out to her, his voice little more than a whisper.

She scrubbed at her face before getting slowly back to her feet. She hesitated, unsure if she heard him correctly. Billy, who was standing beside the bed, sent her a reassuring smile and gestured for her to come and see for herself. Edging closer, the tight cold feeling in her chest began to lift when she saw Michael was indeed just sleeping, his expression one of peaceful rest rather than filled with pain and fear.

Her hand skimmed lightly over the bandages that the medic had applied to his arms and then settled over his heart, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest and strong heartbeat under her palm.

"He's really alright?" she questioned, moving her hand to his brow.

"It was a panic attack; I'm pretty sure it was just a panic attack. I should have expected it."

"What? – Why?" She was having a hard time believing what she just witnessed had not been a life threatening seizure or a heart attack. She had been utterly convinced he was dying. She shook her head. He had to be mistaken. "Michael doesn't panic... He never panics."

"Maybe not when he is fit and healthy, but he's neither at the moment and he has been through a helluva lot in the last five or six weeks. He could be suffering from PTSD, or maybe it's a side effect of all the meds they had him on. A lotta sedatives and anti-convulsants can cause panic attacks when they're stopped suddenly."

She turned her attention back to Michael, frowning as she took in this new piece of information. It had looked far more than a panic attack, though admittedly she had never seen one before. Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose. It seemed every time they took a step forward, there was another medical disaster waiting in the wings.

"You're sure?" She opened her eyes and looked up at Billy.

"No, no, I'm not sure about anything that's going on with him." He shook his head. "We have no idea what he's been through and what damage has been caused internally. It could've been another seizure. I mean, he's had plenty of them, but it didn't look like one. It looked like a panic attack."

She swallowed and returned to checking Michael yet again before studying the monitors, as Billy had managed to reattach most the wires to his patient. Everything was back to normal. It was as if nothing had happened.

"Can you do anything for him? Stop it happening again?"

"Let's let him sleep it off and see how he is when he wakes up. I really do think you should reconsider getting him into that lady doc's clinic."

She took hold of Michael's hand, turning it over, her eyes drawn to the white bandages hiding all the damage he had done in his panic.

"I'll stay with Michael. You go make that call to the doctor and get her to come out here." She made the decision.

"You think he'll agree to go back to the clinic with her? I mean, he's conscious now and lucid. If he refuses -"

"No."

They both jumped and looked down at Michael, who was staring up at them. He looked worn out, his eyes heavy blinking slowly as he fought to stay awake.

"No," he repeated, his voice a little stronger. "No tests, no doctors. 'm fine."

Before she could argue, his eyes slid shut and remained closed.

"No, doc-tors," He mumbled as he surrendered to sleep.

She wiped a hand over her eyes and sighed. "Call the doctor. I'll talk to him once he's awake properly. I'll make him understand."

"If he refuses -"

"I said, I'll talk to him. He might not like it ,but I'll get him to agree." She did her best to sound positive, but she knew it was going to be tough to get him to do anything he didn't want to.

"I'll make the call now."

Once Billy left the room, Fiona sank down into the chair beside the bed and leaned forward, holding his hand between hers.

"I know you," she told him in a soft whisper. "You are the most independent, stubborn, pig headed man I've ever met and I know you're not used to relying on others, but please, just this once, let us take care of you. You're safe here."

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed the bandaged knuckles.

"Just this once let _me _look after _you_."

**()()**

**A/N: ****W**hat happened Immediately after Michael left Fiona in Ireland can be found in the chapters marked Dublin '99 in the M-rated series **Who We Once Were**.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty One**

Fiona sat beside Michael's bed, still clutching his hand between hers. Billy had left to make the call to Doctor Zedillo asking her to come out to examine the patient again and maybe run some more tests, tests that she had to convince Michael to allow to take place.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she tried to block out the memory of his panic attack. She was still trying to come to terms with the fact that what she had seen hadn't been anything more serious. She turned his hand over, staring at the blood spotted bandage covering his hand and arm. During the attack, he had ripped out the I.V catheters and then torn at his arms in an effort to break free of whatever he thought had hold of him.

She rubbed her fingertips over his blood stained nails. Luckily during his time in captivity, he had bitten them down almost to the quick or the damage could have been a whole lot worse.

"All done." At the sound of Billy's voice, she looked up seeing the medic framed in the door way.

"She said she was coming out here later anyway, something about coming to see 'Mr. Finley'. She's gonna bring some equipment with her so she can run the tests here instead taking Mike into her clinic."

"Good." Happy that she would soon have a second opinion, Fiona turned her attention back to Michael.

"You should go get cleaned up before she gets here. Er, you know, wipe your face – get into character."

She gave him a puzzled look, but quickly remembered she was supposed to be the trophy wife of Mr. Charles Finley. Scowling, she gently placed Michael's hand across his stomach and reluctantly got to her feet.

"When he wakes up, call me. I've still got to convince him to take the tests before she arrives."

Leaving the room after one final look at Michael's sleeping form, she made her way to her own room and started sorting through her meager supply of clothing. If they were going to keep up the ruse of being Mr. and Mrs. Charles Finley, she was going to have to go shopping for more outfits. The 'go bag' Sam had picked up for her on his last trip into Miami had held little more than the bare essentials and apparently designer clothing was not on Sam's list of necessities.

**()()**

The journey back from Isla had passed quickly for Jojo and Sam as they bounced ideas back and forth for a new cover story to tell the doctors. The problem was the tale had to be something that not only Pilar and Juan Zedillo would believe, but also a something simple enough that Michael would be able to remember without sending the damaged spy into a tailspin.

Leaving the golf cart on the driveway, the two men walked slowly towards the front of the house. As they neared the veranda, Jojo nudged Sam's arm and gestured to where Fiona stood with her arms folded over her chest watching their approach.

"Here." Sam handed the gun runner the briefcase full of money. "It looks like the little lady wants to talk."

"Good luck wid that," Jojo grinned. "Last time she wanted to talk to you, it took an hour down on my firing range to cool her off."

Sam slowed down and let Jojo go ahead into the cool of the air-conditioned house. As he stepped onto the veranda, he studied the younger woman's drawn features, and red rimmed eyes.

"So, you look like hell. What happened? Mikey still doin' okay?"

"He had a panic attack, a bad pain attack." Fiona dropped into one of the bamboo chairs that were arranged around the Delaneys' veranda.

"Mike doesn't panic." Sam joined her, taking a seat facing her.

"Well, he does now. I – I thought he was dying," she sniffed, wiping a hand over her eyes determining not to breakdown in front of the ex-SEAL.

"What caused it? What did you say or do that –?"

"_ME?"_ She was instantly on the defensive, sitting bolt upright, her eyes flashing with the light of battle. "I wasn't the one who decided to tell him everything! If you must know, that's what set him off. He says he remembers _it all."_

Sam bit down on his bottom lip to stop his own angry retort. Instead he let out a long sigh and let her accusation go unanswered. They both needed to be on the same side through this, especially now, and without Michael to act as a buffer between them, he took it upon himself to try to keep the peace.

"Is he alright now?" He waited for another remark about it all being his fault, but instead Fiona relaxed back. It seemed like she was as reluctant to continue the fight as he was.

"He's resting. Billy suggested we got that doctor to come out again to check him over and I agreed. He called her a little while ago."

"Ah, well, that makes what I've gotta say even more urgent." He took another deep breath and began to explain what had happened on his visit into Isla.

Fiona listened with rapt attention as he described the scene at the Zedillos' clinic and his assault on the building. She frowned when he got to the part where Pilar had seen through his disguise as a wealthy entitled lawyer.

"Did you have to play the hero?" she asked at the end. "I mean, didn't you even think about putting on a mask or at least a scarf... you know, to hide your most prominent feature?"

"Sorry, but I guess I don't go around with a balaclava in my back pocket and, even if I did, I wasn't going to waste my time when a piece of lowlife scum is about to slit a lady doc's throat."

It was Fiona's turn to back down. Dropping her gaze to stare at the floor, she reeled in her natural desire to point out all Sam's faults.

"So, all those people in the clinic, they're just going to lie to L'policia?" With her temper back under control, she returned to looking him in the eye.

"Hey, remember when I said I saved the day? The lady doc and her husband seemed pretty grateful, though they want the real story, you know, who we are and what happened to Mike?"

"And what did you say to that?"

"I agreed." He held up a hand to stop the outburst he saw coming. "And, on the way back here, me and Jojo came up with a new cover. But it relies on Mike either being unconscious or, if he's awake, he needs to be able to string more than a few words together."

"Michael being able to string a sentence together isn't the biggest problem. He heard me and Billy talking and he's refusing to let any doctor near him."

"But you called her anyway? Well, you're going to have to talk him into cooperating and then work with him on the new cover."

Her blue-green eyes went wide. "I've got to? Why me?"

"Because, at the moment, I think you're the only one he completely trusts."

His comment made her smile. "Ow, that must have hurt to say."

"Nope, not really." It was Sam's turn to grin. "We all have our skills and you're the best man, sorry woman, for the job. I don't know anybody else who can get Mikey to do something he doesn't want to do." He looked at his watch. "You just don't have a lotta time to get it done."

"So – what is it Michael has to say?" She was well aware that Sam was playing her, but at that moment she didn't care.

**()()**

It was an hour later that Michael opened his eyes and turned his head one way and then the other as he checked out the room, reassuring himself that nothing had changed while he slept. Seeing Fiona at his side, he smiled up at her and managed to move his arm just enough so that he could capture her hand with his.

"Hey." He weakly squeezed her hand.

"Hey," she answered just as softly, leaning over to place a kiss on his forehead. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she smiled back at him. The kiss had told her he wasn't running a temperature and, as he stared into her eyes, she could tell he was exhausted but his blue orbs were focused and clear. "How are you feeling?"

"Good." He looked past her. "Can I have a drink?"

Her heart skipped a beat. This was even better. This was the first time he had asked for anything. "Sure, let me find you a glass." She was on her feet. "What would you like? Water, or maybe a little juice."

"Juice is fine."

When she turned back, she watched as he feebly tried to drag himself into a sitting position.

"Here, wait, let me help." Placing the glass of orange juice down, she rushed to his side.

"I – I can – do it." He puffed from the effort of moving himself maybe five inches up the bed.

"I'm sure you can, but how about letting me help?" She didn't wait for a reply; wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she helped him sit and then placed a couple of pillows behind him. "There. Now we can talk."

Picking up the glass, she held it up to his lips while he took a small sip. "Just take a little bit at a time," she advised.

After a couple more sips, he signalled he'd had enough and leaned back, resting on the extra pillows behind his head. "You wanted to talk?" he asked, his voice sounding weaker if anything.

"Yes, the doctor will be here soon. We have to discuss what we've told her."

She watched as he eyed her, a hint of suspicion flickering across his pale features. "No."

She saw the stubborn set to his jaw and knew, as weak and fragile as he was, she had a fight on her hands.

"Michael." She gave him her most winning smile. Taking up his hand, she sat down on the edge of the bed and faced him. "You're very sick. You need to see a doctor."

"Billy, Billy can -"

"Billy stitches up bullet holes or knife wounds in gunrunners and smugglers from around the Keys. He's the one who wants you to see a proper doctor."

His lips tightened and he looked away. She could see moisture forming in the corners of his eyes and it struck her: he was terrified.

"We'll be here with you, me and Sam both. Billy can watch what she does too, but you have to let her examine you," she reassured him, wondering what had him so scared.

His fingers curled as he gripped her hand and she felt the shudder that ran through his body. "No. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"We don't know that for don't know what happened to you. I can't believe you're willing to risk your health over something as simple as a medical examination." She took a tougher approach. _If only he wasn't quite so frail._

"Fiona. Please, no. I can't." His hand slid out and away from hers and he closed his eyes.

How could she fight with him? He was trying to hide his fear, but she knew him far too well. She could see he was terrified and the thought of forcing him to submit broke her heart. She couldn't do it.

"Okay, it's okay, Michael. I won't make you do anything you don't want to. We'll work something out."

She wasn't sure how they would do it. Maybe Billy could do the actual tests and report back to Doctor Zedillo? Though how they would explain that to her was beyond Fiona at that moment.

"Thank you," he sighed, letting his eyes slide shut.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she watched as he continued to pretend to be asleep. She had failed completely in the task Sam Axe had given her and that just wouldn't do. First of all, Glenannes never failed when they set their minds to a problem. Secondly, how could she face the ex-SEAL, and permanent thorn in her side, and tell him she was too soft to make Michael accept the care he desperately needed.

It wouldn't do! She was slipping, becoming soft. She was letting Michael's condition turn her into a namby-pamby bleeding heart pushover. There was no way on earth she was going to let Michael turn her into one of those women who waited on their man hand and foot.

She suddenly smirked; she had one more card to play. If she couldn't slap him into doing what he was told, she really had only one form of attack left open to her. It was a low-down dirty trick, but – if it worked...

"Oh, don't thank me, Michael," she told him, smiling as she noticed his eyelids were open just a crack. "If you're not bothered about your health and getting back on your feet, why should I care?" She kept her tone light. "I'm sure when we get back to Miami your mom will be delighted to spend all her time looking after you while me and Sam take on jobs. You'll have to move back home, of course."

Getting to her feet, she walked over to the book case as if looking for something to read. "Sam went to a lot of trouble finding a doctor we could trust and I had to call in all sorts of favors to get you here where you're completely safe. But, if you're sure there's nothin' -"

"I'll see the doctor," he announced.

"Pardon me?" She gave him a look of mock surprise.

"I said, I'll do – what you want. I'll – see the – doctor."

"Thank you." She was back at his side in an instant, placing a tender kiss to the tip of his nose, before pressing another to his lips. "Now, do you feel up to learning what Sam has come up with as a cover story?"

"Cover story?" The look on his face made her smile fondly as she stroked her fingers down his cheek.

"We can hardly tell her you're a burnt spy who was kidnapped by Russian agents," she answered.

"O-kay, I guess. What do you want me say?"

Taking hold of his hands she gave both a little squeeze. "Your name is Michael Finley," she began. "Sam is your big brother, Chuck."

_If the devil hadda name –_ Michael blinked and paled. Other memories of Chuck Finley began to flood his mind.

"I'm going to be your girlfriend. I know you don't like that particular title, but it's necessary to appear to be a normal couple."

"_Fiona Glenanne hates you. You left her in Ireland, abandoned her. She's not your friend."_

"_This is Campbell. He's a paramedic."_

"_We can't be together."_

"Chuck is a private inves- Michael?" She paused, as his hands began to shake. "Michael, it's alright. We'll stop."

"No," he gasped. "My n-name is is F-finley," he stuttered, his eyes screwed up tightly as he tried to block the pain. "Ch-uck, m' brother." He was panting now as more images of cover swam before him.

"No, enough," Fiona spoke firmly. Letting go of one of his hands, she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear from the corner of his eye. "It doesn't matter. You let the doctor examine you, but me or Sam will do all the talking."

She continued to soothe him until he relaxed, slowly drifting in and out of consciousness as the tremors lessened and finally stopped.

"Fiona, the doctor's car is just pullin' on to the drive." Sam said as he entered the room.

Fiona looked up, realizing she had lost track of the time.

"Fi? How is he?"

"He's agreed to the tests, but we're going to have to do the talking. He couldn't-" She stopped and took a breath. "I don't know what happened. As soon as I started telling him the cover, he went to pieces."

Sam gave Michael a worried look. "Well, we can't do anything about it now. They're here and we need to sit down."

**()()**

"Hola, bienvenido a mis amigos." Jojo's voice floated into the lounge where Sam and Fiona sat waiting for the arrival of Juan and Pilar Zedillo.

Hearing the greeting, Sam sat up straighter. "Well, here we go. Are you ready for this?"

Fiona dragged her gaze away from the hallway that led back to Michael's room and gave Sam a half-hearted smile. She had no doubts whatsoever that they could convince the doctors to believe their story. What she was worried about was what they would find when they ran their tests on Michael. Was he really getting better, as Billy kept telling her?

"Our guests are inside. They're pretty broken up about lying to us. I tell you, I feel like a fool for believing them." They heard the creak of the front door closing and Jojo's voice getting closer.

"So what have they said so far?" Pilar Zedillo asked and then, before she got an answer, she continued. "That man, the younger one, he is too sick to be moved, regardless of what they say."

As the Delaney's and the Zedillo's walked into the room, both Sam and Fiona jumped to their feet. With their heads down, they tried to look suitably ashamed of the lies they had told.

"Let's all sit down, I've sent JJ out with Ricky and Ria, so we can free talk freely," Trini informed the group as they all sat down around the long wooden dining table. "So, Mr Finley, if that is your real name, why did you lie to us?"

Coughing nervously, Sam took a deep breath and then spoke in a quiet, low tone. "We're sorry for lying. I guess we owe you all an explanation, my name really is Charles Finley. Everybody calls me Chuck." He fixed his gaze on Pilar, pouring every ounce of charm into the look.

"And I'm Fiona Addams," Fiona added, flicking her eyes up bashfully before returning to stare at the table top.

"We told you the truth about Michael. He is my brother. But Fiona isn't my wife, she's his girlfriend," Sam continued to explain.

"Why the lie?" Jojo asked before anybody else could speak.

"I'm a private investigator in Miami. I was working on a case. It involved – it involved somebody doing something I don't want to get into. It's probably for the best if you don't know the details. Let's just say a very powerful man wanted all the evidence I had gathered during my inquiries and, to get me to hand it over, he kidnapped and tortured my kid brother."

"Why didn't you go the police?" Trini asked.

"So, Michael _isn't_ a drug addict?" Pilar spoke at the same time.

"No! He would _never_ touch drugs! And we couldn't go to the police," Fiona answered. "The man, Chuck was investigating threatened to kill us all. That's why we had to leave the country. We didn't tell you because we didn't want to get anybody else in trouble," she added in a soft trembling voice.

Trini reached across and gave the woman's hand a pat. "There, there, sweetheart, we don't blame you." She looked over at Chuck Finley. "_You_ should have trusted us."

"I know, I know, it's just… you're good people and we were worried if this came out, if this man came after us again..." He shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

"You're a very good shot, Senor Finley," Pilar commented, before either Jojo or his wife could interupt.

"I was in the SEAL teams," Sam answered honestly.

"So why say you were a lawyer?"

"I thought if you all believed we were wealthy, you'd be more likely to help us out... You know, no questions asked." He risked a little chuckle. He could tell Pilar was willing to believe their tale. Her husband was harder to read, but Sam remembered Juan Zedillo spoke very little English.

Jojo slapped his hands on the table, making them all jump. "Well, I don't know what to say."

"Well, I do," Trini spoke up. "You can stay as long as you want to, can't they, Jojo?"

Jojo pretended to think about it, staring at Fiona and Sam's hopeful expressions. "Of course, we'll work something out." The Delaney's turned to where the Zedillo's were talking rapidly in Spanish.

Finally, Pilar turned to face them. "We will help your brother," she told them, having convinced her husband to give the strangers one more chance. "But we can only do that if you tell us what happened to him."

"We don't know for sure,." Sam admitted. "He was drugged and tortured and they've done something to his mind. He-"

"He had a panic attack earlier and." Fiona paused. "And when I told him a doctor was coming to see him, he got very upset."

Pilar pursed her lips and gently touched the dressing covering the stitches in her throat. If it hadn't been for Chuck Finley, she would have been killed.

She turned back to her husband, explaining to him that the patient was scared and two strangers might be too much for him. She suggested that she would do all the talking and he would stay in the background.

"Fiona, if you come with me, Senor Finley and Jojo can help Juan get the equipment out of our car."

**()()**

He was surrounded by darkness, unable to even see his hand in front of his face. It was cold too, icy cold. He shivered and realized he was naked. He was laying on cold wet concrete, smooth to the touch. When he raised his head, he came into contact with something solid. When he tried to straighten his legs, he couldn't. Panic set in and he thrashed about, but nobody came. None of the surfaces around him gave in. He was trapped.

He lost track of time. Feeling left his limbs as hypothermia set in. Just as hope died, light flooded in and he would have screamed, but his mouth was so dry that no sound came out. He tried to shut his eyes, but they were forced open. Water forced down his throat until he choked and then the darkness again.

This time it was worse. Visions of family, friends, enemies, both living and dead, swam before his eyes. The sensation of bugs crawling over his skin made him crazy, smashing his head against his prison wall until he lost consciousness.

More voices, harsh lights, loud noises deafening him.

"_This is Michael Westen. He has been here for the last two years-"_

"_Michael, my name is Doctor Vincent. I'm here to help you."_

He wasn't sure what was worse: the drugs that dulled his senses or the pain and confusion that came when they took the drugs away.

"Michael, Michael."

His eyes snapped open and he gasped. Quickly scanning the room, he reassured himself he wasn't back at the hospital. Fixing his gaze on Fiona, he smiled with relief and reached out to touch her face. His hand moved lazily, but he managed to brush his fingertips over her cheek.

"Michael, Doctor Pilar Zedillo is here to see you."

"Hello, Michael."

His eyes went wide and his heart started to beat faster. He felt the urge to run, but knew he couldn't escape. The dark haired woman staring down at him was new, but they were all the same.

"_If you continue to be uncooperative, you will give me no choice but to put you back in your cell. Is that what you want…. to die here?_

"This is the doctor I told you about. Do you remember?"

He fought against the fear that was threatening to send him back into insanity. Fiona was there at his side; she would keep him safe. He trusted her. There were times when you had to rely on others and this was one of those times.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, he tried to calm the thumping in his chest. "H-hi, I-I'm M, Fin-finley." He blinked several times trying to keep Fiona's face in focus. "I'm Michael Finley," he managed.

"Hello, Michael," Doctor Zedillo answered him. "You can call me Pilar. Would you let me examine you? Maybe run a few tests? Nothing will hurt, I promise."

She noticed how he could barely look at her; his attention fixed solely on his girlfriend. She began her examination, doing her best to ignore all the times he flinched or tensed. Several times, she had to stop as she felt he was on the verge of panicking. Each time Fiona brought him back down, talking to him in a low voice, soothing him with a tender touch of her hand.

The worse moment was when the ultrasound machine she had brought from the clinic was wheeled into the room. Michael's reaction was extreme. It took all Fiona's skills to keep her boyfriend steady as she showed him that it wasn't anything to be afraid of, pressing the wand against her own skin and then Fiona's before he settled back.

When it was all over, they were _all _exhausted. Michael lay in a deep sleep, his complexion deathly pale, his chest rising and falling in shallow rapid breaths. Covering him over and then dialling up the oxygen supply, Pilar led Fiona out into the lounge. Sinking into a chair, she accepted the coffee Trini handed her and took a sip before answering the questioning looks being thrown her way.

"Well, I can only tell you what I saw on the scan..." She paused, wishing she could have run more tests. "I couldn't do an EEG and the blood test results won't be back for a couple of days... His organs all look normal... There doesn't appear to be any damage."

Fiona let out a gasp, her hand going to her chest. She had convinced herself they would find something wrong. This was better than she could have hoped for.

"He's going to be fine?" She couldn't help but laugh; the relief was intoxicating.

"Look, this was just one test... There are -"

"He is going to be fine," Fiona repeated. "He's getting better."

She didn't want to hear about EEGs or blood tests. Michael had passed this test with a clean bill. She would build him up and help him get his strength back. Then, they would go after the bastards who had done this to him.

She had plans for Henry Berman and now she was one step closer to completing them.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: I don't say this enough, but here is a big thank you for all the reviews, favs and alerts for this story.  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty Two**

_He was lying on his side, curled into a fetal position, shaking uncontrollably as ice cold air blew softly over his naked body. Then, just when he thought he could take no more, the cold air began to warm, rapidly becoming so hot it reminded him of his time in the Sahara. The relentless dry heat offered no comfort as his body fought to cope with the rapidly changing environment._

_And, as his body was being in turn frozen and then cooked, his senses were being tortured in other ways. He kept his eyelids tightly shut, but the flashing strobe lighting was so bright it made no difference. He would have used his arms as added protection, but his hands were over his ears trying to block the noises that filled his cell. As random deafening blasts of piercing shrieks or ear shattering booms disturbed the usual deathly silence._

_At some point he must have lost consciousness because the next time he remembered waking up was in an examination room strapped tightly to a bed. There was a light above him shining directly onto his face, making it impossible for him to see the people surrounding the bed. But he could feel their presence, the touch of a stethoscope on his chest and the prick of a needle entering his skin. He could hear them too, speaking in low quiet voices, talking about him._

_They told him why he was there. He was sick. He had done terrible things. It was lucky his handler had realized something was wrong and had stopped him before he lost control completely. He tried to deny their words, explain the truth, but they just smiled kindly and told him what they were doing was for his own good. He'd had a psychotic break and, if he would just give in and cooperate instead of fighting them, they could make him better._

_He could only watch helplessly when a machine was wheeled into the room and more restraints were added to those already holding him down. Once he was completely immobile, they dabbed a cold gel like substance on his head._

"_What are you doing? This isn't necessary. You don't have to do this. It's all lies."_

_He tried to convince them they were wrong but they continued to work, attaching electrodes over the spots of conductive gel. Then the machine was switched on, the dials were turned and they forced a gum shield into his mouth and over his teeth. The pain was excruciating and applied over and over again until he passed out._

"NO!" Michael woke up, crying out as the suppressed memory burst forth.

He was hyperventilating and his body shook with fear from the memory of the pain that had been inflicted on him. His hands pushed and pulled at the sheets until they could reach his bare stomach where in his mind he could still feel the cold gel the doctor had used earlier.

Gulping, he fought back the tears that were threatening to fall. He hadn't meant to break, but when he had seen the ultra sound machine, the dreadful memory he had locked away in the deepest recesses of his mind had returned. Raising a trembling hand he wiped at his moisture filled eyes. _What else had he locked away in his head? _

"How are you doing, brother?"

The sound of Sam Axe's voice so close to his ear made Michael flinch and shy away. Until that moment, he had thought he was alone.

"Sorry, sorry, Mikey. I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." Sam's softly spoken words and large hand lightly patting his shoulder relaxed Michael's startled nerves.

"It's okay, Sam, I – I just didn't see you." He clutched at the bed covers, trying to disguise the way his hands continued to shake. Looking about the room, he realized somebody was missing. "Where's Fiona?"

"She's sleeping. It's two in the morning. You've been asleep for nearly twelve hours. We've been waiting for you to wake up, to give you the good news."

"You should have woken me," Michael complained, as he struggled to prop himself up.

"Here let me help." Sam repositioned the pillows to support his friend's back and then waited until Michael was settled before adding. "That lady doc, Pilar, says everything's looking good. She couldn't see any sign of internal damage. That's great news, isn't it?"

Just the mention of the new doctor sent a shiver up Michael's spine and a flash of seeing the machine being wheeled before him made him feel sick.

"So, I'm good?" he asked, stiffly, doing his best to hide how much he was still freaked out by the talk of strange doctors.

"Well, not quite. But once we fatten you up, you know get some meat on your bones, you'll be back to your old self in no time."

"Do you know," Michael licked his suddenly dry lips. "Do you know what he, Vincent, did to me? How I ended up like this?"

He saw the way Sam hesitated, turning away from him to go to the table holding all the medical supplies. As Sam began to rip open the top of a sachet, Michael felt his paranoia levels rise a notch.

He knew he had been in the hands of a FSB interrogator and that he had been tortured, but he needed more details. The flashbacks were crippling him. The fear of not knowing for sure what was real had him doubting everything around him and not getting answers was making the feelings worse.

"Sam?" He reminded the older man he was waiting for an answer.

"Pilar left some new meds for you," Sam finally spoke up, changing the subject. "She said to let you sleep through this one time and then, once you woke up, to make sure you had one these new fancy glucose drinks. She says the vomiting was most likely cuz you were taking in too much in one go and your body couldn't handle it." He came over and held out a glass tumbler containing about two inches of a clear liquid. "It's mostly glucose with lots of added vitamins and minerals. Come on, take a little sippy sip."

Pulling a face, Michael sipped the sweet syrupy formula. It only took two small swallows and he had emptied the glass. "That it?"

"Yeah, every hour for twelve hours and, if you keep it down, we're to double the amount for another twelve. Then you can go back onto the meal replacements."

"No more needles?" Michael glanced at his bandaged arms. He didn't think he could take any more IV's without losing it completely.

"Ah-huh, as long as there's no setbacks. Hey, she also said when you feel up to it, we can start getting you up outta bed for a little while."

Michael was surprised how much this news affected him. His heart skipped a beat and he was flooded with a rush of emotion. _He was going to be free._

"I want to get up now," he demanded, pulling at the bed covers, the thought of freedom urging him onwards.

"Hey, hey, not right now, buddy." Sam's, hand landed on top of Michael's shoulder, holding him down and stopping his attempt to get up. "Look, I know you want to get outta bed, but one small drink doesn't mean you're strong enough to get up _right now_. Let's see how things go, huh?"

Michael's smile vanished, to be replaced with a scowl. He'd had this happen to him before; Doctor Vincent had made promises only to snatch them away at the last minute.

"_I'm sorry Michael, but you haven't improved as much as I hoped, if you only cooperated a bit more."_

"Hey, how about for now we try to figure out what that bastard Markov wanted from you? Can you remember anything they said?" Sam eased Michael's legs back under the covers and held onto him until he was sure the younger man wasn't going to try to get out of bed again.

Michael, who was paler than ever, shook his head. "They didn't ask questions. Th- they told me I had been there for two years, that I'd gone crazy I – I was hearing voices, I killed – ."

Gulping, he stopped talking and turned his head away. He couldn't talk about it. To admit he nearly broke, even to a close friend, was too much. He continued to stare at the far wall. He could hear Sam's patient breathing behind his back and he knew the man would wait all night if necessary to help him through this. Michael wasn't sure how long Sam waited, but as he began to slump with exhaustion, he heard a soft cough and Sam spoke again.

"I know this can be hard to talk about, but if we knew what they wanted, it might help us figure out who we're up against."

Michael blinked. If he wanted answers, he was going to have to open up and there was nobody who would understand what he was going through or that he trusted as much as Sam. He began to speak in a rush, cutting through his friend's speech.

"It was, it was in the last six months. There was a new doctor, Vincent. He said, – he asked , – he wanted to know about an asset in Algeria." Just mentioning the double agent in Algeria, even to Sam, was making him uneasy. He had protected the man's identity for so long; it felt wrong speaking openly about him.

"Hey, that's good Mikey. That sounds like something that the FSB would want to know," Sam encouraged. "How about anything else? Markov, he's the guy you know as Vincent, told us he had somebody else funding him, somebody with enough influence to get the FBI to back off when we rescued you. Did you hear him mention anything about a mystery benefactor?"

"No, nothin'." He winced as a warning stab of pain shot through behind his eyes.

Sam saw the look and immediately backed off with the questions. "Okay, Mike, you get back to sleep. I'll wake you in about an hour for another drink."

"-'m fine." Michael answered as Sam removed some of the pillows supporting his back.

"No, you're not." Sam countered, but Michael didn't hear him as he had already fallen asleep.

**()()**

Once he was sure Michael wasn't going to stir, Sam returned to the desk where he had been sitting for the previous four hours, studying the files that had once belonged to Viktor Markov. Pulling out a chair, he slumped down and rested his elbows on the desktop. He had hoped Michael would have known something about what Markov's benefactor wanted or at least would have been able to give him more idea on who was involved. But from what Michael recalled, it seemed like the Russian interrogation specialist had only just started questioning his prisoner and all he had been asking about was a double agent in Algeria.

Hearing a faint moan, Sam turned back to look over at his friend. Michael was still asleep, moving restlessly as he dreamed. Keeping watch, Sam couldn't help but wonder if his friend would be able to recover fully from his time spent as Viktor Markov's favorite lab rat. Physically apart from the weight loss, the younger man was undamaged. The only sign that he had been held in captivity was the deep bruising from where he had fought against restraints. But mentally– Sam didn't want to think about how close his friend must have come to breaking.

Finally, Michael stopped moving, his features relaxing as whatever nightmare he had been caught up in ended. Sighing, Sam turned back to the desk. Michael's recovery was not going to happen overnight, that was for sure, and when he did start feeling better, they were all going to have their hands full stopping him from over doing things.

Pursing his lips, Sam dragged over the first file that came to hand. Before Michael had woken up, he had been searching for any information that might lead to discovering who had fired a missile at Veronica's beach house. But now he was also searching for anything Markov had on a suspected Algerian double agent.

A glance up at the wall clock and Sam was surprised how quickly the hour passed by. It was already time to wake up Michael for another glucose drink. Returning the file to the stack piled up on the corner of the desk, he sat up straight and then carefully arched his back, trying to stretch his aching muscles without disturbing his bruised ribs.

If he didn't find any useful intelligence soon, he was going to have to take a trip back to Miami and spend a little face to face time with Henry Berman. With a sigh, he got to his feet and went to prepare another drink for Michael. He wasn't going to think about Berman, not now. Just the thought of how he had let his guard down and helped in Michael's kidnapping made him sick to the stomach.

With the drink prepared, Sam made his way over to the bed.

"Hey, Mike, Mikey. C'mon, buddy shake a leg." Sam shook Michael's shoulder.

The younger man murmured in his sleep, but remained limp with his eyes tightly closed.

"Ah-ah, fella, you gotta wake up." Putting the glass of fluid down, Sam sat on the edge of the bed and patted Michael's cheek trying to get him to respond.

"What's going on, Sam?" Fiona crept into the room and walked up to his side.

"It's time for his drink, but sleeping beauty here won't wake up."

"Here, lift his head up." She shifted Sam out of the way and sat down, manoeuvring Michael's head on to her lap.

He stirred but didn't open his eyes. "Hold the glass up to his mouth and just tip in a little bit at a time."

It took a while, but they got the small amount of liquid down him and he came around slightly.

"Fi-ona," he slurred, smiling up at her and then his eyes fluttered and closed as he went back to sleep.

"Sam, you go catch up on your sleep, I'll stay with him now." Fiona stroked her fingers through Michael's hair as she spoke.

"Are you sure?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "You'll be no good to him if you're dead on your feet."

"I'm wide awake. Besides have you at looked at yourself recently? Those bags under your eyes are turning into suitcases," she quipped.

"I'll be sure to book myself into that fancy hotel down the road for some spa treatments tomorrow," Sam replied drily before slowly getting to his feet; if he was truthful with himself, he was looking forward to climbing into his bed. "Oh, before I leave you two alone, you should know me and Mike, hadda bit of a talk earlier. I filled him in on what the doc had to say and I sorta let it slip that Pilar said he could start getting out of bed – just don't let him talk you into helping him on to his feet just yet."

"We'll be fine, Sam." She smiled confidently. "I can manage him."

"Oh, I don't doubt it lady," he smirked back at her.

**()()**

Michael barely registered the soft voice whispering in his ear waking him up or sipping the syrupy formula held up to his lips by a small familiar hand. Each time he was pulled from his sleep, at some level he recognized the voice, and then he would open his eyelids just enough to catch a glimpse of long auburn hair or worried blue-green eyes. Satisfied it was Fiona at his side, he allowed himself to slip back into a deep dreamless sleep, trusting that she would protect him while he healed.

Sam's news had driven away his fears, the doctor they had found, had given him the all clear, and they were going to let him get out of bed. All the IV lines were gone from his arms and the wires with their sticky pads stuck to his chest and sides had been removed, too. Each time he felt the presence of Dr. Vincent, telling him that none of this was real, he now had the strength to fight back.

He stirred as the room lightened. By 7 AM, the sun was high enough to break through the gaps in the blinds covering the windows, sending streaks of light across the room. Groaning, Michael flung an arm across his tightly closed eyes and tried unsuccessfully to turn on to his side.

"Hey, sleepy head."

He wearily opened an eye to stare across to where Fiona sat curled up in the armchair placed next to his bed. "Fiona," he breathed out her name, reaching out for her hand.

"How are you feeling?" She got up and sat back down on the edge of the bed, his hand now wrapped in both of hers. "You're looking better, not quite so pale and out of it."

Blinking at the sunlight filtering through into the room, he took a look around, reassuring himself everything was as he remembered. "I'm fine. Sam said that the doctor, – Pilar? She said I could get out of bed."

It was the only thought in his head. He knew he wasn't strong enough to get up on his own, but just to be able to sit in a chair would make him feel less of an invalid. He watched as Fiona's smile became strained.

"Fi?" He remembered Sam's words of caution and how he promised they would let him out of bed soon, just not yet. From the way Fiona was acting, the older man had spoken to her while he slept.

"Please, Fi." He looked into her eyes, pleading with her to agree to help him. "If I keep the next dose of that sickly sweet stuff down, will you help me into the chair?"

One of her hands came up to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone. "Michael, you're not ready yet. If you push yourself too hard, you'll slow down your recovery."

"Fi, Fiona." He upped the puppy-dog eyes and smiled. "I'm strong enough, I promise."

He could tell he was getting to her and pushed even harder. Rubbing his cheek against the palm of her hand, he widened his eyes and mouthed "Please."

The smile began to fade when she shook her head. "Not now, maybe later today."

The disappointment almost overwhelmed him and he knew instinctively he was overreacting, but he couldn't stop himself from pulling away and the misery he felt settled over him like a heavy black cloak. _They were never going to let him up._

The bed shifted and he heard Fiona's footsteps cross the room. He glanced across to where she was preparing a drink for him. _What had Sam said? One every hour for a whole day? Were they going to make him stay in bed for a whole day? He was feeling better, he wanted to get up. He had been lying down for too long._

She still had her back to him, so gritting his teeth he shifted closer to the side of the bed and swung his legs out.

"How about I help you with a bed bath?" Fiona sang out.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Michael answered as he moved closer to the edge of the bed, his feet inches from the floor.

"Sam was supposed to get you some new clothes, but he forgot." She sighed, as she pulled a canvas bag from under the table. "But there's some stuff in here that he brought from the loft."

" 'kay." Michael was distracted by a sudden pull on a very important part of his anatomy.

"Michael!" Fiona had heard his hiss of annoyance and turned to find him sitting balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. "What are you doing?"

She rushed to his side, her hand pressing against his chest, stopping him from falling forward.

"Are you trying to hurt yourself?" she scolded, pushing him back. She caught hold of his legs and got him back into bed and lying down. "You keep this up, I'll tie you to the –," the threat died on her lips as Michael paled.

"_Tie him down! Tightened the straps... I'm sorry, Michael, I thought you were ready for a little more freedom. I was wrong."_

He heard the words clearly and shrank back against the pillows, his heart pumping wildly.

"Michael? I'm sorry, I didn't mean – I didn't mean it."

He cringed away from the touch of her hand on his cheek.

"Michael, it's me, open your eyes." She coaxed, tenderly cupping his cheek as he trembled beneath her touch. "Come on now, open your eyes."

Gulping, he did as she asked and instantly let out a relieved gasp, catching hold of her hand and entwining their fingers. He sucked in several large breaths of air, all the time his eyes flickered, studying her face.

"Don't, don't _ever_ -" he tried to speak, but he was still breathing heavily and couldn't get the words out.

"I won't. I didn't think. Shh, it's alright now." She squeezed his hand and pressed soft kisses to his lips.

As he calmed down, Michael lay back staring up at the fanlight turning slowly above his head, his erratically beating heart slowing as he relaxed. He glanced down his body to where his fingers were still holding tight to Fiona's slender hand. He tightened his grip, trying to disguise how he was still trembling from the threat of being tied down.

"It's time for your next drink." Fiona kept her tone light, hiding her fears behind a smile. "I'll get it for you. Then, if you have a sleep, I'll speak to Billy about letting you out of bed this morning."

He looked up at her, his blue eyes watery and red rimmed. "Okay," he nodded, releasing her hand so she could get the drink.

He was so tired that he fell asleep as soon as he swallowed the last mouthful.

**()()**

Michael had been asleep. The sound of the three people talking in low tones close by was just an annoyance he did his best to block out. The dark depression which had settled over him earlier had remained wrapped tightly around him. He saw no reason to wake up. He was trapped in bed and everybody was treating him as too fragile to be kept fully briefed on what was happening.

"He's too weak. I don't think she meant we get him up and let him run laps straight away."

"He doesn't want to run laps, he just wants to get out of bed. Can't we prop him up with pillows and let him sit in the chair?"

Fiona's reply to Billy Clemens' comment caught his attention.

"Can't it wait until later? Tomorrow would be even better. You know, once he's on those supplements, he should improve rapidly if he doesn't over do it."

Michael's heart began to beat faster as he listened to what at first was two people discussing his fate.

"Well, if blabbermouth over there hadn't -"

"Hey! Listen lady, I was just filling him on what the doc said."

"Sam." Michael's eye's opened and he fixed on Sam Axe who was standing nearest to the bed.

"Hey, buddy," Sam grinned. "We were just talking about you."

"I heard." He turned his head, smiling a greeting to Fiona before focusing on where Billy Clemens stood leaning back against the table with his arms crossed over his chest. "I want to get up. I'll do whatever you want. Just let –" he was beginning to break down when he felt Fiona's hand on his shoulder.

Billy glanced over at Sam, then Fiona and finally back at Michael. He sighed deeply and slowly nodded. "You go back on the heart monitor. And at the first sign of distress, you get back in the bed. No arguments."

Michael's heart thumped loudly as he lay still, too scared to move in case he did something to upset the deal he had made with the medic, watching the preparations for transferring him from the bed to the armchair.

Finally, the covers were pulled away from his legs, an oxygen/pulse monitor was clipped to his finger and the remaining line attached to his body positioned so it wouldn't be disturbed.

Under the gaze of three pairs of worried eyes, Michael pulled himself up into a sitting position with his legs dangling off the bed towards the floor. With Sam on one side and Billy on the other, Michael slowly shifted forward until he was on his feet. Standing didn't seem to be a problem. Smiling at the sense of freedom, he took a wavering step forward – and would have fallen on his face if it hadn't been for the men on either side of him.

"Hey! Steady there, Mikey," Sam laughed nervously.

"I'm fine," he gritted as they helped him take the couple of steps necessary to reach the chair.

Sinking down, he sighed and closed his eyes while he recovered. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his legs were trembling as if he had been running for miles. He felt pillows being pushed down into the gap between his sides and the arms of the chair.

"Mike… Hey, Mike, open your eyes."

"Yeah?" Michael obeyed the command, and found Billy kneeling in front of him, checking the readout on the monitor clipped to his finger.

"Let me look you over. You got any pain anywhere?"

"No."

"You sure? Now's not the time to be brave."

"I'm sure." Truth be told he felt like crap. _How could just getting out of bed leave you feeling so wrecked? _But he wasn't going to admit how exhausted and sick he felt.

This was the first step in getting his life back and he wasn't going to let _anybody_ ruin it.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty Three**

Michael had never thought that sitting in a chair could be so exhausting or so incredibly exhilarating. But after being trapped in a bed for so long, it felt like he had just won an important battle.

All he wished for now was that Fiona, Sam and Billy would stop staring at him as if he might break. Their constant attention was chipping away at his already fragile mental state and feeding his overwhelming sense of paranoia.

By the end of the first hour, the feeling of euphoria had dimmed and he was rapidly becoming too tired to talk. With his head laid back against the headrest, Michael let his eyes slide shut and began to feign sleep. He was grateful for the effort his friends were going to, to keep him safe and help him recover his strength, he really was. But he was also becoming fed up of seeing the concern they felt for his health etched all over their faces. Closing his eyes seemed to be the only way for him to escape it all.

At some point he must have gone from faking sleep to actually dozing off, because the next thing he knew was a hand gently stroking his cheek.

"Michael, it's time to wake up." He opened an eye and stared up at Fiona's smiling face as she held out a glass containing a small amount of the clear syrupy fluid which was helping to build up his strength.

Frowning, he opened his eyes fully and peered around; something was different. Instantly, he was on alert. The room was lighter and streaks of hazy sunshine were breaking through gaps in the blinds that had been closed earlier.

Something else caught his attention: chattering birdsong and the soft faint sounds of waves breaking against the shore reached his ears. The window, hidden behind the blind, must have been opened too. _Why would they open the window? _He knew it was a ridiculous thought, nobody in the room was there to cause him harm.

Just as he began to relax, a random strong gust of wind caused the blinds to clatter and shift, sending a ray of sunlight directly into his sensitive eyes. He let out a startled gasp, as a sharp stabbing pain filled his head and he collapsed forward.

"I'm gonna be sick." He choked, and in desperation, tried to pull himself out of the chair.

"Michael!"

He felt Fiona's hands on his head and then on his shoulders, trying to stop him from tumbling to the floor. But instead of helping, it only enhanced his feelings of being trapped.

"Sit him back," Billy Clemens called out, as he tried to aid Fiona in keeping Michael from falling.

He fought them, striking out as he tried to escape their clutches, but he was too weak to do any damage. By the time Billy and Sam lifted him out of the chair and carried him back to the bed, he had already given up. As soon as they placed him down on the mattress, he turned away from them and curled up onto his side, cradling his head in his hands as he waited for the pain to pass.

"Michael?" He felt Fiona's hand cup his shoulder and, for the first time instead of seeking her comfort, he turned away, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape her touch. _How had he come to this? _

"L-leave me a- lone. It's too m-much," he muttered breathlessly. "T-too l-light, too m-much noise," was the best he could explain.

The room was suddenly thrust back into darkness and the click of the window shutting put an end to all the noise coming from the garden.

"Is that better?" He heard Sam call out from across the room.

Michael gulped and gritted his teeth. He couldn't live like this locked away in the dark with only a few trusted friends for company. As his heart rate slowed and the headache lessened, he carefully began to shift until he was able to see everybody. His blue eyes, bloodshot and filled with moisture, skimmed over the people in the room without making direct eye contact with any of them.

"Try again. Open the window," he ordered quietly, the words coming out as little more than a husky whisper.

"Michael, I don't think that's a good idea. We don't -" Billy tried to caution.

"Open the god damned window," Michael snapped, his words coming out stronger than before as his eyes took on an angry glare.

It was that look and tone of voice that convinced Billy to agree. It was the first real spark of life his patient had shown. Up until now the only emotion Michael had exhibited was fear. Anger mixed with frustration was a positive step; it showed he was beginning to fight back.

"Okay, relax... Sam, open the window." The ex-SEAL reached round the blind and opened the window about half way.

Michael took a couple of deep shuddering breaths and offered up a small smile. "See, I'm fine," he stated in a shaky voice.

For some reason he couldn't fathom, the sounds and feeling of fresh air was setting all his senses on to high alert. He recognized the feeling now as hyper-awareness and tried to manage the sensation. This was something he had dealt with before. He drew on his training and years of experience, forcing himself to concentrate on slowing his breathing.

"It's just a bit of fresh air, that's all." Sam tried to reassure him. "I tell ya, Mikey, it's like a little bit of heaven out there. We've got the sea on two sides and the island is tiny. Nobody is gonna sneak up on us here, brother."

"There is a wide veranda and plenty of shade. When you're feeling up to it, we could sit outside," Fiona added. "Just spend the whole day relaxing and watching the sun on the horizon."

Michael reached out and tentatively took hold of her hand, letting his friends' words wash over him, settling his over stretched nerves. The fear was still there. Every bird chirp sounding loud and foreign to his ears. Each wave breaking against the shore reminding of the rumble of distant carpet bombing. But slowly, as minutes passed and his senses became more attuned to the sounds of nature, he relaxed.

"Open the blinds a bit... Please."

"Mike, how about you try one thing at a time?" Billy countered, and then when he saw the look his patient sent him, he added. "Maybe, if I gave you a light sedative,"

Michael shook his head.

"Just something to help you relax while you get used to things."

"You promised, no more drugs. I'm fine, I gotta get used to the light." He swallowed, his eyes losing focus. "Can't stay in the dark... Can't hide – hide fo –forever." His speech began to break up as tiredness took over and his eyelids fluttered and remained closed.

They waited until they were sure he was sleeping and then gathered in the hallway just outside the door.

"So?" Fiona demanded. She scraped her hair back off her face and scowled at the medic.

"_You_ expect me to have all the answers?" Billy complained. "I'm as much in the dark as you are."

"He's been locked up, tied up and pumped full of drugs. I think he's entitled to be a bit wary of the great outdoors," Sam put in. "He's starting to improve. We've just gotta make him take things slow, that's all... You know, don't let him bully," he looked at Billy. "Or sweet talk," he shot Fiona a look. "Any of us into letting him try things he's not ready for yet."

"And maybe some of us should stop encouraging him to get out of bed in the first place." Fiona added with a small smirk before continuing to speak. "JJ still wants to show me the town. I'll go in with him this afternoon and get Michael some suitable clothing for his rehabilitation."

"Good idea," Billy agreed. "You should also get him some magazines and anything else you think will keep him interested, you know, puzzle books that sorta thing." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "No shoes, get him some slippers but nothing that's going to encourage him to be too adventurous."

Fiona nodded, already mentally drawing up a shopping list of all the things she was going to buy. "I'm going to need some of that cash you picked up from the bank."

"Just be careful that boy of Jojo's doesn't start thinking of you as his sugar mommy," Sam laughed.

Fiona glared across at the older man, her eyes going wide. "He's sixteen, Sam. I'm sure -"

"You saved his life, sister. Face it, the kid is in lurrrvve." His smile widened as a flush of crimson spread over Fiona's cheeks.

"Shut it, Sam," she muttered, knowing she wasn't going to win this particular argument. Jojo Delaney's oldest boy had been mooning over her ever since they had arrived.

**()()**

Michael woke up with a dry scratchy throat and sore puffy eyes. Squinting, he looked about the room, noting the window and blinds were still partially open. They must have let him sleep for a least a couple of hours as the sun was no longer shining directly inside.

The rustle of papers being sorted caught his attention and, after a little bit of effort, he managed to prop himself up on one elbow. Sam Axe was sitting at a desk positioned next to the window holding up a piece of paper up close to his eyes, his lips moving silently as he read.

"Sam?" Michael's soft call caused the older man to jump and guiltily drop the document in his hand onto the desk and hurriedly gather up the other pieces of paper laying in front of him.

"Hey there, Mikey." He looked over as he finished tidying everything away. "You ready for another drink? I bet you can't wait to get onto something a bit more tasty.

Michael recognized the signs of his friend trying to hide something from him. The false joviality was a sure sign the ex-SEAL felt guilty about something and, even in his present condition, it wasn't hard for him to work out it had something to do with the large cardboard box brimming with official looking files next to the desk.

"Sam?" Michael gestured with his eyes, a tiny spark of paranoia building inside him. "What's with the box?"

Sighing, Sam came over to the bedside, his expression fixed in serious lines. "I'll tell you all about it, but first you gotta have a drink. You've missed the last couple cuz Billy wanted to let you have some uninterrupted sleep."

Michael followed Sam with his eyes as the older man went to make up one the glucose drinks which seemed to be the only thing he could keep down. "You could tell -"

"Nope, you can wait," Sam answered firmly.

Seeing it was pointless to argue, Michael used the time to get himself propped up in bed. So by the time Sam came over, he was ready to sip down the syrupy mixture and then get his answers.

"Here we go, brother."

Michael reached for the glass and cursed when it took him two attempts to grab hold of it firmly. Even then, if it wasn't for Sam's help, he would have most likely spilt the thing down the front of himself. Sam must have read the frustration he was feeling on his face.

"Take your time, Mike, think baby steps. It's early days."

Resting his head back against the pillows Michael closed his eyes. _Baby steps indeed. He felt as weak as an infant and about as much use. _

"What's going on, Sam?" he asked when he finally opened his eyes.

Sitting down heavily in the chair where Michael had sat earlier, Sam hesitated and then, when he did speak, his tone was flat and serious. "Okay, I'm gonna tell ya... But, before I do, I want you to understand, _we've_ got this, _me_ and Fi.. All _you've_ gotta do is rest up and get better. You start doin' _any_ crazy shit and I'll cut you out completely. I'll leave you alone to Fi's tender mercies." Sam looked into Michael's eyes, making sure the younger man understood how serious he was.

Realizing Sam wasn't going to say another word until he agreed to the terms, Michael nodded. "'kay."

"I mean it, Mikey. One stupid attempt to do anything that hasn't been cleared first by Billy or Pilar and I'll cut you out completely."

"I promise," Michael smiled wearily. "It's not like I have a choice, is it?"

"I'm glad you understand the situation... So, that box, when we caught Markov and his team, we got hold of a ton of documentation. That's what all that is. Most of it appears to be invoices for office and medical supplies. But some of it has to do with what they did to you. It's mostly in Russian, so it's taking me awhile to get through it."

"I could help," Michael offered hopefully. "My Russian is better than yours."

Sam had known as soon as Michael knew about the stack of papers, he would want to do his part in finding out what had happened. But he didn't think letting the man go through documents that might detail his torture was the best way forward. Plus, there was also the damn Henry Berman Dossier that he needed to come clean about.

"Sam?"

"Sorry, Mike. Look, I know you want to help, but I don't think this would be the right way for you to do it." He saw the frown on the younger man's face. "You're vision is still a bit screwed up and reading through pages of Cyrillic text would probably make things a helluvalot worse... Maybe in a few days when you're stronger."

Michael sat with a stony expression, his mouth turned down at the corners. "I can take it," he answered stubbornly.

Sam sucked in a breath and shifted in his seat. "How about if I talk you through what I've worked out so far?"

"Fine." There was no point in arguing. Michael could tell by the set of Sam's jaw the older man wasn't going to give in. "So what did Dan say?"

"Dan? Oh, Dan Siebels?"

"You told him about Algeria? You called him?" Michael pressed.

"Mike, Dan Siebels hasn't taken your calls for over two years and if I'd called Langley and told them -" Sam explained. This memory lapse convinced the ex-SEAL that his friend wasn't ready to be given a bigger part in the investigation.

"They'll probably lock me up as a security risk," Michael finished the sentence.

"Yep. Look, I'm pretty sure you didn't tell Markov anything." Sam did his best to reassure his friend. "But you've been missing for six- seven weeks now and the Feds are trying to find you. So for now it would be best if we kept a low profile until we can sneak you back home."

"And calling Dan would bring the Feds here," Michael sighed.

"You got it." Sam pursed his lips, still unsure on how much he should tell his friend. "So, any way, the more I've been reading, I don't think the FSB are our biggest problem... At least not any more."

Michael raised an eyebrow. _The FSB wasn't a problem? _

"No, listen, Mikey, you've been out for two years and, let's face it, all the intel you hold in that head of yours, though interesting, is not up to date. I think there's a bigger problem... Somebody apart from the FSB was bankrolling Markov. Somebody with enough power to get the police to back off from investigating the building we blew to pieces getting you back and the money to buy expensive tech like the tracker that help 'em find Veronica's place."

"Management?" Michael gasped.

"Maybe, but I think it's a new player in town. When Management stopped covering your ass, it brought out all the crazies. That's what I'm looking into now."

The thought of another powerful enemy somewhere out there raised Michael's paranoia up to a whole new level. He felt a rush of adrenaline course through his body, urging him to react to this new danger.

"You should go, take Fiona and go," he gasped out the words as he started to hyper-ventilate.

"Ah-ah fella, calm down. Remember the agreement? You let me and Fiona do all the work on this one. Nobody knows where we are, the house is guarded and we have plenty of guns."

Michael bit down hard on his lip. He was doing it again; it was as if he had no control over his emotions. _Of course, they were somewhere safe. His friends knew what they doing. They had even provided him with medical care._

"You said you knew some of the stuff Markov did to me? Drugs?"

Sam dropped his head down. "Yeah, experimental stuff, or that's what Markov was boasting about until Fi broke his leg."

"She broke his leg?"

"Oh, yeah." Sam looked up and smiled. "Well, more like she separated his knee; electrocuted him, too, and busted his nose.. She was pretty pissed for a while there, brother."

Michael smiled back. He knew how angry Fiona could get when she perceived a threat to those she cared about.

"Did he say anything, before?"

"That was what got her dander up. He started boasting about all his experiments and what he had planned for you and, to be honest, I was kinda grateful when she shut him up. Look, I don't think you need to know all the crap he did. We can talk about it if you want, er, if you need to. But Billy is pretty confident whatever drugs you was on have gone through your system. You're in the clear, Mikey."

"In the clear?" Michael didn't feel like he was in the clear. He ached everywhere and was exhausted just from talking. He went to speak, but instead of words, he yawned and his eyes fluttered and closed.

"Hey, no sleeping yet, fella, not 'til you've had another drink," Sam ordered and Michael forced his eyes to open.

He struggled to focus. But when Sam brought over the liquid this time, Michael held the cup and managed to raise it to his mouth all by himself. It was a small step, but for Michael it was another victory.

Sam waited until he was sure his friend was back to sleep and then went back to his paperwork as he sat staring at the Berman Dossier. He knew that fairly soon he was going to have to fess up to his part in the kidnapping.

**()()**

Sam was sitting out on the veranda when Fiona returned from her shopping trip. He grinned and waved a greeting as he watched with amusement while sixteen year old JJ struggled past, carrying all of Fiona's shopping bags on his way up to the house.

"You left anything for the other folks to buy?" he called out.

"Very funny, Sam. How's Michael?" Fiona stopped beside him.

"Sleeping for the most part. Billy is in with him now. So, how did your date go?"

"JJ is a sweet boy," Fiona replied. "And a perfect gentleman, which is more than can be said about most of the male company around here."

"I'll have you know, I get a lotta compliments about my masculine charms, Missy."

Fiona turned to enter the house, but she couldn't resist a final comment. "And _that's_ why you're romancing a woman for her_ car_. Charming, Sam, very charming." She smiled sweetly, reminding Sam that he had taken up with a neighbor of Madeline Westen's after bonding over an old red Buick convertible.

Inside she found JJ waiting for her, standing in the middle of the living room with all the bags strewn around his feet. She restrained the laughter that bubbled up in her throat at his expression. She was pretty sure three hours spent shopping for Michael had managed to dull the boy's crush on her.

"You need me for anything else, Miz Fiona?" he asked.

"No, thank you, JJ. You've been a big help." She kept a straight face as she answered him.

"I'm gonna go then. See you later – Fi." He stepped over the bags and bolted before she could ask him to do her any more favors.

Sighing, Fiona gathered up the bags and carried them towards Michael's room. The trip into Isla had done her the world of good. A few hours spent away from Michael's side, not having to worry about if he was going to live or die, had given her a chance to relax and lightened her spirits.

JJ had been good company, too. The boy seemed to have recovered well from his ordeal at the hands of the mercenary employed by Philippe Gardeno. She never mentioned it to anybody, but she still had nightmares about finding fifteen year old JJ cowering in the back room of a derelict warehouse in Lake Worth, covered in blood from where a machete blade had been sliced down his face.

She had never spoken about what happened that night, not even to Michael. Some of it was unclear, even to her. She had truly lost control; her rage had known no bounds as she had taken revenge for JJ's treatment at the hands of Gardeno's mercenary.

Today though there had been no sign of the trembling, grievously injured boy she had carried out of the building she had just set alight. He gave no indication of being held back by his compromised vision or missing finger and, as if to prove the point, he insisted on taking her on a tour of the harbor and the marina filled with large expensive yachts. Everywhere they went, it was clear that JJ Delaney was a popular and well liked boy.

Something else had struck Fiona, as they went from store to store in the busy little town. Isla de Mujeres might well be a tourist destination, packed with holidaymakers, many of them day trippers. But it also offered men like Jojo Delaney a comprehensive and totally free security service. While the streets were packed with a transient population from all over the globe, which in theory would allow an assassin or an extraction team to blend in and remain anonymous, it had came very clear to her that the locals of the small town all knew each other and looked after their own. By the end of the day, the last fears she'd had that they were risking getting trapped on a small island with nowhere to hide had been laid to rest.

Reaching the bedroom door, she entered without knocking and came to an abrupt halt. Michael was coming out of the en suite bathroom, his arm slung over Billy's shoulder, leaning heavily on the medic as he walked slowly back to the bed.

Dropping the bags, Fiona crossed the room to help, her eyes alight with joy when she realized he was no longer tethered by the last line into his body. As he collapsed back on the bed, his limbs were shaking from the effort of walking across the room and his eyes lost focus as exhaustion over took him. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth.

"You know what this means?" She whispered into his ear, as her fingers carded through his unruly hair.

He looked at her through half open eyes.

"Once you're feeling a little bit stronger, it will be time for a bath... and maybe a haircut."

A tiny smile graced his features before he succumbed to sleep.

_I remember._


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty four**

_I remember..._

Michael smiled as the memory of a long ago night spent in a Glenanne safe-house came flooding back.

"Fiona, what happened to taking things slowly?"

Billy's voice sounded hollow and faraway. The medic was irritated, or maybe a little frustrated, but Michael paid little attention to the whining tone. He was half way into a dream state filled with only good things. The light tug of Fiona's fingers combing through his hair and the soft touch of her lips on his neck helped to transport him back to a different time and place.

_He was lying in a large white porcelain roll top bathtub set in the center of a spacious bathroom with a cork floor and pristine white and green wall tiles. Steam from the pleasantly hot water rose up around him and his head tilted back as he felt all the tension he was carrying slip away._

"So, you don't think he's ready for a bath?"

Fiona's voice came to him from a distance. There was a challenging note in her tone, which probably was going to spell trouble for Billy.

_She was there in his dream too, her strong fingers kneading the tightness out of his shoulders and then, without warning, pushing him under the water and holding him there while he struggled, but only for a moment before letting him up and laughing as he spluttered and spat out a mouthful of bath water._

"_It's pointless me stitching up thot wee scrape ta yar head if yar hair still stinks o' tha sewer."_

"And a haircut won't tire him. It will make him feel better."

Two Fionas, the same woman, but one Irish and one American, one from his past and the other from the present, were mingling in his mind.

_Water and shampoo trailed down his face, dripping into his eyes, and then the bathroom shimmered and a sudden chill entered his bones._

"So, what's the problem?"

There was that challenging tone again.

"_So wot's the problem?" It was no longer Fiona's voice and the figure before him was definitely masculine. Fiona Glenanne was replaced by a hard-eyed British soldier staring at him along the barrel of a Heckler and Koch L85A1 rifle._

In that instant, everything changed.

_An icy cold breeze burnt his cheeks and made his eyes water. He was running for his life down a dark Belfast street, his feet pounding on the pavement, the echoing thuds betraying his position to the pursuing foot patrol._

_In truth, he wasn't really running for his life; unless one of the soldiers giving chase decided to break the rules and open fire. No, he was running to maintain his cover, to complete the assignment; because if he failed, lives would be lost and the peace which was so close for a nation would be delayed or, even worse, lost completely._

_And he was running because, when he got clear, he was going to find out which useless frigging sonuvabitch MI6 agent had failed to inform the British Army that a covert operation was taking place and, when he found them, he was going to kick their dumb ass out into the Irish Sea._

_Exhilaration, fear and frustration flowed through his body as his arms and legs pumped, carrying him away from the troops on his tail. He was __not__ going to blow this mission._

_Coming around a corner, he felt his heart drop when his hard won effort to build up some distance from his pursuers was all for nothing. Fleeing the patrol, he had strayed out of the Republican heartland and was in unknown territory. He was on a deserted road with no cover for at least a quarter of a mile._

_At the time, with the army patrol closing in, the manhole cover leading into the Belfast sewer system had seemed like a good idea._

As the dream took him down into the dark stinking hole and up to his knees in effluence, his reality shifted yet again and a wave of claustrophobia came out of nowhere.

_His blood ran cold in the pitch black; the stench of his surroundings filled his nose and mouth. Every fibre in his body told him to fight. Frantically, he scratched at the slime covered walls until his fingernails were torn off on the hard stone surface._

His nightmare was twisting the details of his life, taking him from one place to another without a pause or any order, from the best safe-house in Northern Ireland, to the sewers of Belfast City and on to the hell of being a prisoner of Viktor Markov.

_His foot slipped and, before he could regain his footing he was underwater, his head striking a ledge hidden by the flowing filth. _

Within a beat of his racing heart, the water was gone and he was in a small space smashing his head, his arms, and legs against the walls, floor and ceiling. _He was struggling to breathe. He was alone, entombed, trapped in hell with no hope of escape._

"Hey! Mike, wake up, man."

Michael heard the words, but they meant nothing.

He couldn't breathe. His heart was trying to burst out of his chest as his mouth and nose were filling with water and there was nothing he could do.

"Michael, Michael... Shhh, shh now, it's alright."

Fiona's voice, the familiar feel of her fingers on his cheek and her scent was breaking through the nightmare... the comforting sensation of her body pressing up against his and her breath tickling his ear.

"Michael, come back now. It's alright, it's alright."

He woke up with a start, his eyes wide and breaths coming in rapid shallow gasps. Fiona was beside him on the bed, her arms wrapped around his torso and holding him in a tight embrace.

"It was just a dream, just a dream, shhh, shhh," she soothed him. Loosening her hold, she raised one hand to cup his cheek, gently guiding his head around to look at her. "Just a dream, Michael, that's all."

He ignored her words of comfort, twisting his head free so he could look about the room. Only when he was satisfied that it was safe did he return her stare. Swallowing down the last remnants of his fear, he nodded and gulped. "A nightmare. Just a nightmare."

He wanted to stay awake, but his body was rebelling. He was so tired, but feared what was waiting for him in the dark. Forcing his eyelids to remain open, he tried to concentrate on the woman curled up against his side.

Michael barely acknowledged Billy Clemens reaching across to lift his wrist as the medic checked his pulse. "I'm going to leave you two alone." Billy announced. "Try to keep him calm and let him get some sleep."

Fiona nodded, but she never let her blue-green eyes stray from Michael's tired, moisture-filled blue orbs. "You're tired. You need to sleep."

He blinked and slowly raised a hand to trace the line of her brows before moving on to skim along her jaw and to her lips.

"Can't."

"Can't? Can't sleep? You have to. To get better, you have to rest."

He looked away, ashamed that she was seeing him at his worst, reduced to a quivering wreck because of a stupid nightmare.

"Michael, if you need to talk-,"

Shaking his head, he broke eye contact and turned his head away. _How could he explain to the bravest person he knew that he had been reduced to a point where he could barely function and he had no idea how to get back to normal?_

"I'm fine," he muttered stubbornly.

Fiona bit her lip and snuggled in closer against him, trying to ignore the jutting hipbones and the feel of his ribs. Laying her head on his shoulder, she began to lightly draw circles over his chest with her fingertips.

"Do ya remember the reason I had ta cut yar hair, McBride?" she whispered, slipping back into her native accent. "D'ya remember how I had come out ta rescue ya? Ya war soaked to tha skin an' stinking ta high heaven."

The soft sing-song lilt and the use of his old cover name brought the image of that moment to life.

_He had been so focused on taking down notes as he'd listened in on a bug he had planted earlier that evening in an effort to catch a bunch of Real IRA terrorists who'd been plotting a bombing campaign that he had missed the approach of an Army foot patrol. A rifle barrel tapping against the passenger side window of his stolen car had been the first he'd known of the mission going sideways._

_In the deeply Republican area, he was a known man. If the Brits took Michael McBride into custody, every action about to be taken by any of the IRA splinter groups would be put on hold. The men he had been sent to stop would disappear into the underground and escape to plot more bombings and murders at a later date._

_So he had turned the key in the ignition and floored the gas pedal. He had thought he was safe. The soldier couldn't open fire without permission and, even in the beat up old Austin Maestro, he should have gotten away. But he hadn't factored in a trio of drunks staggering into the street in front of him. Swerving to miss the two women and man, he had ended up crashing the car into a lamp post._

_Abandoning the car, he'd had to continue on foot and that had led to him into entering the sewers, slipping on the slime covered floor and his skull coming into contact with a hard sharp surface._

"You wouldn't lemme in," he murmured.

After half an hour of wading around in the putrid water, he had made it back to the surface. It had taken him nearly another thirty minutes to find a working phone box to call Fiona to come out and get him.

"That's right, I wa' in me Aunty Jeannie's Lotus and I wouldn't let ya inside cuz of the state o' ya. I nearly left ya thar because ya wouldn't strip outta yar clothes... It took a while ta convince ya I wa' serious, but in the end ya got tha message. I can picture ya now, standing thar under thot bridge as naked as the day ya war born except fer an old blanket I found in tha trunk."

He had a vivid memory of that particular incident, shaking from the cold with sewer water dripping off him, standing out in sub-zero temperatures and Fiona preparing to leave him stranded in the middle of Belfast City because she didn't want to wreck her distance relatives' pride and joy.

"You almost scalped me, too," he mumbled the accusation.

"Ya looked and smelt like ya'd swam through tha sewer and ya had blood leakin' out o' a hole in yar head." She reached up and stroked her fingers through his hair and then along his cheek, dropping her accent again. "If I hadn't cut your hair, I wouldn't have been able to sew it up. I promise I'll make a better job of it this time... D'ya know what made me think about that particular night?"

He sighed and shook his head slightly.

It was her turn to sigh and then she whispered, as if imparting a secret. "D'ya remember that bath? The big fancy tub and the bubbles? And how I scrubbed your back for ya... and then your front... An' later on -" She paused as his breathing deepened and his heartbeat slowed.

Shifting slightly, Fiona raised her head off from his chest and peered upwards, seeing that his eyes had closed and his features had fallen into relaxed lines. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she lay back down.

It had been several days since they had slept together. On Jojo's yacht, she had been with him almost constantly, only leaving his side for emergencies such has a coastguard boarding party. Curled up against his side, she relaxed, letting her eyes close; this was something they both needed.

Michael's arm twitched and then she felt the comforting weight of his hand landing over the top of hers, his fingers moving until they were entwined with hers. Smiling, she let all their troubles drift away. For a short while, she would forget how ill Michael was and remember the past.

_She had been so angry with Michael for insisting she stay behind while he went off to plant the bug that would bring about the end to the Real IRAs last remaining bombing unit. It had seemed that MI6 was perfectly happy that he used her for tactical support: providing a house for them to use as a base, taking him around the fiercely republican neighborhood, making sure all the locals knew his face and doing her part in the long boring job of locating the actual team of miscreants. But at that point the British bastards who were running the show had decided her involvement was over and, much to her annoyance, Michael had agreed with them._

_So when she had got the call that he was in trouble and needed her help, she had been tempted to tell him to call his Brit friends to organize an extraction. But, in the end, she had borrowed her Aunt's Lotus Esprit and sped through the dark Belfast streets until she found him hiding out under a deserted bridge._

Her lips twitched when she remembered his appearance that night.

_He had stepped out of the shadows with his gun in his hand, dripping wet with a thin trail of blood from a head wound traveling down his neck and mingling with whatever it was covering him and his clothing._

_It had only been when he opened the passenger door to climb into the warmth of the Lotus that the putrid odor had hit her. Gagging, she had sent the car lurching forward, causing him the fall backwards onto the cold wet pavement._

"_Jaysus, Michael wha' tha hell have ya been up ta? Don't think yer getting in here smellin' like tha'!"_

_And that had been the start of a short, but very heated discussion which had only ended when Michael had accepted that the only way he was getting into her Aunty Jeannie's sports car was if he got rid of every nausea-inducing piece of clothing. Wrapped in an old blanket which normally would have been used to cover the seats when Jeannie Donahue took her pet Yorkshire Terriers to the park, he had sulked all the way out of Belfast and into the affluent suburb of Holywood._

_As they had driven along a tree lined street filled with large detached houses, he had asked where they were going and that's when she had given him the rest of the good news. Turning onto a wide gravel covered driveway, she had told him where they were going to be staying._

"_This is Liam's home when he's in Belfast." She had watched Michael pale._

_Her oldest brother was not only the most protective of all the Glenanne boys, he had also made it plain he was no fan of the man living in sin with his little sister._

"_I'm not walking in on your brother like this."_

"_Don't worry yarself, he's away." She'd laughed at him and then refused to give him any more information about her brother's whereabouts._

"_I'm sorry, Michael. It's classified." She'd thrown his own words back at him._

_Once inside the house, she had hustled him straight upstairs to the bathroom. While she'd run him a bath, adding vast quantities of the rather plain supermarket store brand of bubble bath, he had gotten under the separate shower to get rid of the worse of the taint from the sewer._

Snuggled up next to him now, her stomach flush against his hip, her palm resting over his heart, she couldn't help but compare the changes his body had gone through.

_In that shower, his body had been all taunt, hard muscle. While testing the heat of the water running into the bath, she had been unable to keep her eyes off all the well-defined muscle tone on display._

_Dripping wet, he had walked out of the shower and, before she could stop him, he had gathered her up in his arms, pressing his body hard against hers while his mouth ravished her lips in a deeply passionate kiss which left her breathless. When he'd released her, she had staggered back and sworn softly when she'd realized that he had completely soaked the front of her white angora jumper and black jeans._

_He'd grinned and reached out for her again, but she'd knocked his hands aside and pushed him towards the free standing tub in the middle of the room. _

"_Away wid ya. Ya try ta stink out me Aunty's car and then ruin me top. Get inta tha water."_

_She'd waited for him to relax in the deep bath, his head lolling back over the side, and then slipped out of her damp woollen top before dropping down behind him. She had searched through his hair to locate the cause of the thin trickle of blood still leaking from his scalp, eventually finding a small deep gash which was going to need a couple of stitches._

_Having found the source of the blood, she'd let her fingers trail down from his hair and onto his shoulders. Working slowly, she'd begun to knead way all the tension out of the bunched up muscles in his shoulders and upper back. As the massage and the hot water worked to relax him, he'd smiled up at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners and drawing her own gaze to the scar over his eye. Unable to stop herself, she'd leaned forward, kissing the faded jagged lines._

"_Am gonna have ta cut yar hair."_

_Then, without warning, she'd pushed down hard on his shoulders, sending him flailing underwater. Holding him down for just a second, she had let go and sprung backwards as he'd suddenly resurfaced, spraying water all over the cork tiled floor._

"_And it's pointless me stitching up thot wee scrape ta yar head if yar hair still stinks o' tha sewer," she had answered his look of accusation and her mischievous smile had widened as his eyes had focused on the sight of her white lacy bra._

_Letting him look, she'd strutted seductively across the room to a large medicine cabinet and then collected scissors and her brother's surgical sewing kit. The haircut which followed really hadn't been her fault. If Michael had just kept his hands to himself while she had trimmed the hair away from the wound, maybe she wouldn't have ended up cutting out such a large chunk in the first place. _

She felt him shift in his sleep and, when she glanced up, she could see a faint smile curving his lips and wondered if he was dreaming about that night, too. It had certainly been a happy ending to an intense assignment. They had stayed in Liam's Holywood home for just one night and, in the morning, Michael had disappeared for two days to tidy up all the loose ends. Whatever he had said to his bosses must have worked. Because when he had returned to her, it was with a new assignment.

Lifting a hand, she skimmed her fingertips over his stubble covered cheek. Surely now, after all he had been put through, he would realize the life he was chasing was going to get him killed. How could he still want to work for people who didn't care if he was living or dead?

Maybe she could convince him they could have a good life together. Maybe when he saw the island and saw the living Jojo had carved out for his family, he would see the possibilities. She pressed a kiss to his chest. Surely he had to see the futility of his quest to get back into the CIA, especially now. It was going to take months for him to fully recuperate.

A loud coughing clearing of the throat alerted her to another presence. Snapping her head around, she spotted Sam standing in the doorway. Holding a delicate looking teacup in one hand, he leaned against the door frame with a smirk on his face.

"Hey, sunshine, sorry to wake ya." He ignored the glare she sent his way. "But your dinner is waiting for you in the kitchen and Mikey here has a treat in store for him." He raised the teacup. "Billy reckons Mike is ready to sample a little chicken soup."

Slipping on her shoes, Fiona got to her feet. Peering into the cup at the weak looking soup, she licked her lips.

"Yum..." She laughed.

"So, how's he doin'?"

"Good, better, I think." She shrugged her shoulders and turned back to stare at Michael's still sleeping form. If he was himself, he would have woken as soon as Sam entered the room. "He had a nightmare, but he got over it fairly quickly."

"So, you go grab some grub and I'll wake up sleeping beauty here," Sam suggested.

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. He was up to something. Why else would he be in such a hurry for her to leave the room?

She spotted the folded up file sticking out of his back pocket and, before he could stop her, she had pulled the file free and was looking through the pages inside.

She skimmed each document, becoming angrier the more she read. Finally shutting the cover, she looked to where Michael was still sleeping and then over to Sam, who at least had the decency to look guilty. Without speaking, she gestured for him to follow her out of the room.

"You can't tell him any of this, not now," she announced firmly.

"He needs to know and the longer I leave it, the worse it's going to be."

She sighed and leaned back against the wall, glancing back into the room at where Michael lay oblivious to what was going on. Satisfied he wasn't about to stir, she returned her gaze to her sometimes irritating associate.

"He won't blame you... You know that. All you're doing by showing him this," she waved the offending file in his face, "is easing your own conscience."

Sam stared back at her, his hands on his hips with a serious expression on his face. "He's been asking questions and, like I've said all along, I don't want to lie to him. There's nothing here to get him worked up, just the facts... I know this is hard for you, but he's gonna want to know all this stuff."

It was taking all her self-control not to scream in his face. From what she had read, there was nothing she and Sam couldn't have sorted out on their own. They could have it all done before Michael was fully mobile or even able to shoot a gun. Gripping the file tightly in her hand, she shoved Sam backwards. At that moment Michael moaned softly and turned onto his side.

Fiona paused and Sam took advantage of the distraction and re-entered the safety of Michael's room.

"Your dinner's getting cold, Fi."

She didn't want to cause a scene. Michael was getting better and, if he woke up to them arguing, he would want to know what it was about and Sam would win.

"We'll talk about this later," she declared. _She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction_. "I'll keep this, and if you tell him... I'll make you eat every single word."

**()()**

He waited for her to stalk away, her long auburn hair swaying as her long strides carried her towards the main part of the house. Once he was sure she was gone, he went over to the bed and gently shook Michael's shoulder.

"Hey, Mike, you gotta wake up now. Come on, rise and shine, buddy."

Michael stirred, his eyes opening, and he yawned.

"Sam?" he questioned.

"Yeah, brother, Fiona's grabbing a bite to eat. she'll be back soon." He helped Michael sit up while he spoke. "Billy was telling me you're planning on taking a bath tomorrow... And Fi's gonna cut your hair?... Are you sure about that, brother?"

Michael smiled, a faint blush giving his pale complexion a hint of color. "Yeah, I'm sure, Sam." He lazily lifted a hand to rub it over his untidy hair. A chance to clean up couldn't come soon enough as far as he was concerned.

"Okay, then," Sam sighed. "When you end up looking like you've been dragged through the underbrush backwards, don't come crying to me."

"I won't, it'll be -." Michael's words broke off as he caught the enticing aroma of something far better than the sickly sweet medicinal drinks he had been having.

Realizing where his friend was looking, Sam got to his feet. "Billy has given the go ahead for you to try some soup. It's a little weak, more like chicken flavored water."

From the first hesitant sip, Michael wanted more. He made an attempt to take the cup out of Sam's hands, but the older man was having none of it.

"Ah-uh, take it easy, fella... You puke it back up and that will be you back on the glucose."

As soon as he finished what was for him a tasty meal, Michael fell back against the pillows breathing deeply. He still had the savoury taste in his mouth and could feel the soup had filled up his shrunken stomach.

"I guess Billy was right when he said you were ready for something with a bit more flavour," Sam commented. "You think you can manage some of that other stuff now? You've still gotta take in the extra calories."

They sat in silence while Michael slowly sipped from the glass Sam handed him. He studied his friend carefully, trying to decide the best way to get the answers he wanted. He remembered Sam's threat to cut him out completely if he didn't do as he was told and the thought scared him more than he cared to admit. He knew he was safe and everything he had been told about his friends had been lies. But knowing that didn't help stop the paranoia.

With the glass empty, Michael let his hand drop to his lap. It was time to ask his questions. He couldn't leave it any longer. The constant fatigue he was living with was beginning to weigh down his limbs and pretty soon he knew he would have no choice but to sleep.

"So, what was Fiona upset about?" He tried to make it sound like a casual inquiry.

"Ha," Sam began nervously, his eyes flickering to the door as if he expected Fiona to be waiting in the hall to pounce. "I'd forgotten about spies and their super-sonic hearing. You heard that? We thought you were asleep."

"I heard, but I wasn't awake... Not really." Michael shrugged, unable to explain to his friend the semi-dream state he spent so much time trapped in. "So, are you going to tell me?"

Sam drew in a breath, "You know she'll kill me. I'm gonna to have to spend the next few weeks checking under my bed for C-4."

Michael stared back patiently, waiting for Sam to spill the beans. There had been a time when he would have been certain about his ability to get the older man to talk, but Markov or Vincent or whatever his torturer's name had been had put a huge dent in that self-assured confidence. He could feel his heart hammering loudly in his chest and his mouth was going dry as he tried to maintain an outward look of calm.

"Mikey, you're still -"

"Sam, please."

The older man sighed and huffed while Michael did his best to remain calm even though the tension was making him feel light-headed.

"Okay, you win." Sam finally came to a decision. He leaned forward in the chair and began to speak in a low tone. "I've managed to go through everything in that box belonging to Markov and I think I've got some pretty good leads. But, I need to explain something first." He paused.

Michael could see guilt written all over his friend's face and felt a lump building in his throat as a tremor caused his hand to tighten on the glass.

"There's a reason Markov's men knew where to hit -"

Both men jumped when Michael's hand began to shake uncontrollably, causing the glass to fall and bounce across the floor.

_**()()**_

**A/N: ****The full tale of Michael and Fiona's Belfast mission to eradicate the last remaining Real IRA bombing cell is told in 3 parts ******Belfast Nov '98 ******in ******Who We Once Were.****


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty Five**

"There's a reason Markov's men knew where to hit -"

It was as if it was happening in slow motion: the empty glass bouncing and rolling across the bedroom floor; Sam's mouth hanging open, the words of his confession frozen on his lips; and in the background Michael's raspy panicked voice trying to reassure him nothing was wrong.

"I'm okay. I'm fine, Sam. I'm fine."

At the sound of his friend's voice, Sam mentally shook himself and drew his eyes away from where glass had come to a stop to find Michael staring back at him through wide, bloodshot eyes.

"I'm okay; it was an accident." The younger man's hands were clutching at the sheet covering his lower body, but Sam could still make out the tremors which had been the cause of the glass leaving his friend's hands in the first place.

_Fine? Yeah, right, Mikey, the whole pasty complexion and the way your hands are shaking worse than your Mom's when she's trying to light up her first nicotine fix of the day, all that lets me know you're just peachy. _Sam bit back the words before they could leave his mouth.

Instead he got to his feet and turned toward the door. "_No_, you're not. I'm going to get Billy."

Before he could take more than couple of steps, he was brought to a halt by surprisingly strong fingers wrapping around his bicep.

"I _said,_ I'm fine. I don't _need_ Billy." In his desperation to stop Sam leaving the room, Michael had somehow found the strength to throw himself forward and was hanging half out of the bed. "I _need_ to know what's going on."

"I know you do, brother," Sam agreed softly, before gently pulling Michael's hand away from his arm and easing him back onto the bed. "_But_, you also need to rest and -"

"Sam, please. Please, I'm fine. It was just a glass."

The sound of his best friend begging for his understanding tore at Sam's heart. He sighed heavily before half turning away and reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if hoping for an answer from above. His head told him to ignore his best friend's wishes and go find Billy; however, his heart and his gut were telling him that Michael wasn't going to get better until he felt like he had some control over his life.

"I'm fine. I'll stay calm... Sam?"

The older man slumped down in the chair, as his heart finally won the battle. Michael Westen should not be made to plead for a little bit of harmless information.

"Jeez, okay, okay," he caved in, hoping and praying he was doing the right thing.

"I'm fine," Michael repeated firmly. "I don't need a doctor. What I _need_ is for you and Fiona to stop treating me like a kid. I - I can take it. The glass ... it was just an accident."

"Okay, Mikey, you can stop trying to convince me. You've won, okay? We'll try things your way. But you crash out on me –" he left the threat open.

Under Sam's stony gaze, Michael slowly relaxed back against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Thank you, Sam," he mouthed the words before opening his eyes and turning to look at his friend. "So, what were you going to say?"

"You gonna behave?" Sam demanded, sitting up a little straighter.

Michael nodded, still making an effort to hide his hands. Pursing his lips, Sam got to his feet and, when Michael opened his mouth to question what he was doing, he held up a hand in warning. He only went as far as the table holding the medical supplies and, when he came back to the bed side, he wordlessly placed the oxy meter on one of Michael's fingers.

They both watched the meter flash as it began to take readings of Michael's heart rate and oxygen levels.

"Your pulse is at 86 beats a minutes," Sam finally spoke. "If it keeps going up, I'm gonna cut this short and risk catching hell by ratting us both out to Billy and Fi. So, unless you want Fiona kicking both our asses, you keep calm like you promised and I'll tell ya what I know... Okay?"

"Get on with it, Sam," Michael ordered, his eyes flickering from Sam to the meter on his finger and back again.

Sitting down heavily, the ex-SEAL made a big show of getting comfortable in the chair, giving Michael time to compose himself and work on bringing his heart rate down. Finally, after letting out a long sigh, he began to speak.

"Okay, this is what I've got so far... Markov, that's the sick sonuvabitch you knew as Doctor Vincent, was a FSB sponsored scientist and interrogator. He and his team got into Miami pretending to be part of some Russian trade delegation. Now, before he'd even had a chance to set up, he was approached by a cut out with the offer of some extra cash and some tactical assistance, if while he was questioning you for the FSB, he'd get some answers for a mystery third party," Sam paused. He was pleased to see his friend's pulse was staying steady and the shaking had faded to the occasional tremor.

"Do we know who –?"

"Yep," Sam grinned. "In Markov's notes I found a name, Henry Berman, and a Miami telephone number. Berman owns a small munitions factory. He also has two ex-wives, a new wife and, believe it or not, a couple of girlfriends."

"A dream of an asset," Michael interrupted. "The girlfriends make him easy to blackmail and the ex-wives mean he needs money."

"You got it," Sam smiled, asking questions and making comments showed his friend was definitely perking up. "So after a little bit of research, I found out that a few weeks after you got nabbed, Berman wins a big contract with Strauss Technologies, who, according to the company web page, are leaders in the competitive field of weapons design and defense. Their main business appears to be in the design and manufacture of electronic control systems for a variety of weapons – including drones."

He paused, but was disappointed when Michael made no further comment. So after taking a breath, he continued. "The company CEO is a guy called Oscar Strauss. As well as running the family business, he's also on the board of the Miami Economic Trade and Development Commission, which puts him in contact with Berman, possibly meeting Markov _and finally_ a cop buddy told me that when we extracted you, it was somebody from the commission who used their influence to kill the investigation. The only thing I can't figure out is why Strauss would be going after a burned spy."

Sam waited, watching as Michael took in the information,. He could see a frown forming and he knew that Michael was about to figure out there was more to the story than he had been told.

"What?" came the question Sam was dreading. Michael coughed and licked his dry lips. "What aren't you telling me? You said, there was something you had to tell me... Before….Fiona was – angry. She didn't want you talkin' about..."

Michael struggled to to bring order to his thought process, becoming frustrated when his brain wasn't working quickly enough. "That wasn't it." He shook his head in disgust.

"Mike, I've told you everything I know. I'm still looking into Strauss. But as far as I can work out, the guy has links to everybody in the free world, in our military, in the intelligence agencies…. his business contacts spread out all over the globe. It's gonna take me a while to track down all the leads."

Sam's hope that he could distract Michael with talk of Oscar Strauss faded as the younger man fixed him with a penetrating stare. It was obvious from his expression that he had finally organized his thoughts and worked out what he wanted to say.

"_You_ said, _you_ needed to explain something first." Michael repeated Sam's speech back to him. "Then, _you said_, there was a reason Markov's men knew where to hit... where to hit me?"

Sam bit down on his lip, his eyes flickering over to study the readout on the oxygen meter. His friend's pulse was staying steady at 70 beats a minutes, which was still high but lower than before.

_Damn, he couldn't order Mike to rest and say they would talk about it later._

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Mikey?" He had originally planned on telling Michael everything, but when the glass had fallen onto the floor and he had seen his friend's hands shaking, he had decided to miss out on a few of the details.

He had actually found himself agreeing with Fiona. Michael was showing so much improvement that he didn't want to be the one who knocked his friend back, all because of his guilty conscience. But it seemed he was stuck now. If he kept quiet, Michael would just stress about them hiding things from him again.

"Sam, what aren't you tellin' me?"

It was obvious now that the burned spy wasn't going to let things go. _When did Michael Westen ever just let something go? _Sam realized that now he had no choice but to confess and hope for the best.

"Okay, yeah, I left a coupla things out," he admitted, fixing his eyes on his friend. "This isn't easy for me –. I, I think I messed up, brother." He dropped his gaze to the floor. "I think it might have been my fault that Markov's team knew where to grab you."

He risked a glance up and saw Michael was just staring at him with a puzzled frown. Taking a breath, Sam continued.

"When I found Berman's – Aw, hell, there's no easy way to say this... The reason I know so much about Henry Berman is that I worked a job for him. It was when you and Fi were chasing after that Cayman Isle banker. It was an easy security gig, you know the sorta thing? I worked there for a week with Berman, and, well, we got pretty chummy," Sam laughed nervously.

Michael's silence was beginning to freak him out, as was the vague stare, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Mike, look, I'm sorry. We got pally, we went out to a coupla bars and clubs... I must have said something..." He hung his head in shame. He was a SEAL, for gods sakes! He knew how to keep a secret, but he'd let a damn factory owner work him into giving up intelligence on a friend.

"Sam, it wasn't your fault," Michael finally spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I mean it. I know you, Sam. You wouldn't do that to me."

Sam stared at his friend; it was as if a heavy weight suddenly lifted off his shoulders. "Mike, are you sure? I mean, if you want to talk about it…. I swear to God I didn't -"

"There's nothing to talk about." Michael paused and did his best to offer up a reassuring smile. "I have just two people I trust implicitly – Fiona and – you."

Now it was Sam's turn to gulp. "You know blabbing to Berman had me tied up in knots... I can't think of one solid thing I said but - – Thanks, brother." The ex-SEAL got to his feet and wiped a hand over his eyes, overwhelmed by the level of trust Michael had in him.

"Sam, I know you...You didn't tell him anything..."

Hearing the weakness in Michael's voice, Sam quickly composed himself and turned back to his friend. The younger man was laying back, his breaths becoming more forced and deep. It was obvious to Sam that Michael had had enough now. Closing the distance until he was at the younger man's side, he checked the oxy meter one more time. The rising numbers flashing on the display just confirmed his opinion.

"Mikey, you gotta rest now or Fiona is gonna hang us both out to dry." He patted his friend on the shoulder. "You get some rest or you'll not be up to that bath in the morning."

Michael yawned and his eyes fluttered as he fought against the fatigue which was overtaking him. Then much to Sam's relief, he gave up the fight, his features going slack as he fell into a deep sleep.

Keeping watch, Sam was pleased as the oxy meter readings which had been heading towards triple figures on the heart rate were now dropping down to more normal levels. Rubbing a hand over the back off his neck, Sam blinked away a build-up of moisture in his eyes. He still couldn't quite believe how much faith his friend had in him.

"I'll make it up to you, brother," he spoke softly.

Satisfied Michael was sleeping peacefully, he went back to the chair in the corner of the room where the Markov files sat in a box on the floor. He was going to make damn sure that by the time they were ready to head back to Miami, he knew everything possible about Henry Berman and Oscar Strauss.

Using a laptop Jojo had lent him, Sam set to work trying to discover all he could about Oscar Strauss and why he would be interested in interrogating a burned spy. He had a feeling that Strauss was being used by somebody else hiding in the background, but there was so many possibilities, he was getting a headache thinking about it. Rubbing at his eyes, he had no idea exactly when he fell asleep, but he woke suddenly with a start when a hand landed gently on his shoulder.

"Hey, Sam, you wanta get to bed?"

The room was a lot darker now and the laptop had gone into sleep mode. Yawning, Sam peered down at his watch, but was having trouble focusing on the dial.

"What time is it?" he asked, staring up at the bleary shape of Billy Clemens.

"Just after midnight, how did the chicken soup go down?"

"Great." Sam stretched and got to his feet, wincing as the bullet damaged muscle in his leg protested at his movement. "He seems a lot better, stronger, and he's thinking clearer..."

"But?"

"But, he's got some sort of tremor going on in his hands. It wasn't there all the time, but it caused him to drop a glass. He got pretty spooked about it. Well, to be honest, we both did."

"Uh-huh, and you didn't think it worth coming to get me?"

Sam sighed. "Mike asked me not to."

"And of course the man with possible brain damage is in charge," Billy snipped back.

"Mike _isn't_ brain damaged," Sam replied firmly, the harsh set to his features warning Billy to drop the manner. The thought of Michael being unable to hold a gun, or even protect himself, didn't bear thinking about.

"Yeah, sure." The medic couldn't resist making one last swipe. But then he put the attitude to one side and sighed. "Look I know he's getting stronger and you're all eager to get back to normal. But your friend is far from recovered. He needs rest, and lots of it... His hands shaking, that could have been another seizure or a sign of some new side effect from the drugs he was on."

"I know how bad he is, Billy. I'm not stupid... But I know Michael Westen and the only way you're gonna get him to rest is to let him do things his way. If he knows what's going on and trusts you, he'll listen... But you've gotta get him to trust you first."

Billy nodded, chewing on his bottom lip he glanced over to where his patient still slept. "Okay, you go get some sleep. Fiona is gonna take over at six AM. I told her to wait until we're both here before Michael has his bath."

Sam grinned, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. "Yeah, a bath, a sure sign he's feelin' better. Okay, Doc, I'm gonna get some sleep."

**()()**

Michael woke up three times in the night, each time Billy brought him a small glass of glucose fortified with vitamins and minerals and, on one occasion, the medic helped him walk over to the bathroom. In between, he sunk into a restless sleep, his brain refusing to completely shut down as it sifted through everything Sam had said to him earlier.

His friend's words had also opened a tiny crack in the fragile wall he had put up to stop the ghost of Dr Vincent from whispering in his ear.

As he lay fretting about Oscar Strauss and Henry Berman, the new threats to his life, Vincent was there also, in the background his soft persuasive voice telling him over and over again.

"_I was right; you have to believe me now. Axe has admitted his guilt. He was drunk and indiscreet... Sam Axe was never your friend. You worked some missions with him, but that was all it was. Why would you hang out with a drunk and a womanizer?"_

"_It was more than a few missions," he'd answered the Doctor._

"_Really? How many and where? It's important, Michael. It's all part of your sickness."_

_Lying strapped to a hospital bed, it had been on the tip of his tongue to reel off all the place names: Kuwait, Afghanistan, Serbia, Bosnia, Turkey, Egypt, Poland, Russia…. But he had held back on speaking out loud. Because in every one of those places, Sam Axe had proven his worth and his friendship, which meant Vincent was lying to him._

_Instead he had silently used the litany of place names to refute Vincent's claims over and over again. He realized now that he had far more history with Sam Axe than Markov had been able to dig up, much of it buried away in sealed black ops files._

_He was doing it again now, comforting himself with memories of the past: Kuwait, where he dragged the injured SEAL to safety, injured because the SEAL had used his own body to protect a young, green Army Ranger from the blast of an IED which had taken out the two men in front of them; Serbia and Bosnia, where the man had tried to convince a spy to back away from the dark path he was following and then there was Chechnya he had sealed up that memory in such a deep part of his mind that only the feeling of gratitude for Sam's help remained, but it was enough._

_They had too much history for him to accept Sam Axe would betray a friendship._

By the time he woke for the fourth time, Dr Vincent was banished again, locked securely away in the dark recesses of Michael's mind, along with all the other bad things he had seen or done in his life.

**()()**

It was several hours later, and only after a thorough medical examination, that Billy Clemens reluctantly gave the all clear for Michael to have a quick bath.

"Believe it or not, this is going to wipe you out," Billy warned Michael as he rolled up the blood pressure cuff. "You're not as strong as you think you are."

"I just want to get clean," Michael muttered stubbornly.

"Okay, I get it." Billy didn't bother to argue further, at least not with his patient. Instead he turned his attention to Fiona. "Fifteen minutes, that's all he gets, and then out of water and make sure he is thoroughly dry before he's back in bed."

"Fifteen minutes and out," Fiona agreed and then disappeared into the bathroom with the bag of toiletries she had bought on her recent trip into Isla.

"I'm right here," Michael grumbled under his breath, as his friends and Billy Clemens continued to ignore him.

He watched with a small amount of resentment as Billy and Sam start to lay out fresh linen for the bed and go through the bag of clothes supplied by Fiona. He was about to open his mouth, and tell both men he was at least capable of choosing what he was going to wear, when the splash and whoosh of fast running water caused him to freeze as a wave of fear washed over him, leaving him teetering on the edge of panic.

_Icy cold water poured over his head and face getting into his eyes, mouth and nose. Held down and unable to break free, he couldn't breathe, excruciating crushing pain ripped through his chest while his mind struggled to remain conscious. He couldn't go through that again, he couldn't. He had to -_

"Okay, brother, are you ready for this?" Sam's voice quelled the panic.

Michael let out a long breath he hadn't even realized he was holding and then flinched as his friend's hand landed on his shoulder.

"C'mon, the bath is ready and Fiona is sounding a bit impatient." Sam moved around so he was standing in front of the younger man. "You okay?"

After swallowing a couple of times, Michael managed to push the fear and panic down. Now his mind was clearer and he was getting stronger, he was finding it easier to fall back on his training. Composing himself, he lifted his eyes to look at his friend and even managed to bare his teeth is a classic "Michael Westen smile," full of charm and, in this case, false confidence.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm ready." He edged forward on the bed until his bare feet were flat on the floor. If he was going to do this, he wanted to get on with it now before he could change his mind.

"Hey, easy there, fella."

Michael managed to contain all but the barest flinch as Sam caught hold of his arm to steady him.

"You gotta take it slow, buddy. Fiona isn't going anywhere," Sam chuckled.

Reaching the bathroom, he wasn't impressed to find not only Fiona waiting for him, but Billy too. The bath was half filled with water and bubbles had a faint lemon scent that filled the air.

"Hey." Fiona got to her feet from where she had been kneeling next to the tub.

Her eyes sparkled and a wide grin curved her lips. "I'm going to let you boys help Michael into the bath and then I'll be back."

Stripping off his night wear, Michael was suddenly very aware of his appearance. He caught sight of his reflection in a mirror and gasped. It was his first full view and he realized what had been done to him. There were no new scars, but his body was ravaged and his confidence dropped to zero. For the first time, he saw that Billy was right; there was not going to be any quick fix to his condition.

"C'mon, Mikey, in ya go before the water gets cold." Sam sought to distract his friend.

Michael sighed as, with the help of the two men, he lowered himself into the water. The warm water filled with soft lightly lemon scented bubbles filled him with a feeling of well-being. Letting his head fall back, his eyes closed and he revelled in total relaxation.

"Okay, brother, we're gonna leave ya to Fiona's tender mercies."

Michael's eyes were still closed when he felt a familiar hand skimming over his stubble covered jaw and chin. "Fifteen minutes isn't long, Michael." A shiver went up and down his spine as Fiona spoke into his ear. "How about I give ya a shave an' cut your hair afterwards? D'ya think you'll be up to it?"

He opened his eyes and reached for her hand, linking their fingers together. "Can I just lie here?" He stared up at her and somehow found himself focusing on her lips.

With her free hand, she cupped his cheek and then lowered her lips to lightly kiss his forehead. "Close your eyes and relax. Let me do all the work. You just rest and let the water soak away yar troubles."

He smiled up at her and let his hand drop back into the water. He was more than willing to let her wash away all the dirt and sweat of his captivity. He'd had bed baths, but it wasn't the same as a thorough soaking. He was just a little irritated that Billy had been right; this bath was going to wipe him out.

"Close your eyes, Michael," Fiona ordered.

Her touch with the sponge was soft and familiar as she soaped down his body. As she worked, she talked about the night they had spent in her brother Liam's home. Reminding him of how he couldn't keep his hands off her that night. But his mind was dancing from one memory to another. How many times when they had been living together did they share the small narrow bath in their Dublin flat? He skipped over their last night. He wasn't prepared to revisit that particular memory or what happened afterwards. He needed something else. The night she was talking about wasn't what he needed to remember either in his present state; the stress of the assignment, their fighting, were all things he couldn't cope with just now.

"I was positive you soaked my clothes because I made you leave yours behind – Or was it you wanted me stripped off, too?"

She took hold off his wrist and raised his arm and he complied without speaking. He had found what his mind had been searching for: his favorite, most comforting memory, the one that had helped him through all the times he had been at his most low.

_It was February and they were driving north on a gun buying expedition due to take place in two days' time in the city of Derry. The roads were slick with ice and the freezing Atlantic winds were blowing so hard that he had been grateful that they were traveling in an old Land Rover Defender. At least the heavy weight of the vehicle helped to keep it on the slippery roads._

_As darkness fell and the strong winds began to bring in a heavy covering of snow, the driving got more treacherous. Up ahead, the sudden appearance of flickering bright red brake lights followed by the occasional flash of orange hazard lights warned them of an accident further along the road._

"_Turn off." She had nudged his arm and pointed to a lane on the left hand side of the road. "Follow tha lane ta tha end an' then take a right."_

"_Wa're not goin' ta get far on these back roads." He pulled over and put the Defender into four wheel drive before setting off again._

"_It's not far, jus' a coupla miles... Ya wa' boastin' ya could drive anythin' anywhere las night... Ya lost yar bottle, Michael McBride," she had taunted him. _

_He wanted to show her that he hadn't lost his nerve or the superiority of his driving skills, but the road was too treacherous for any showy antics that could only end with the SUV off the road and in a ditch. _

_He had followed her directions and had been surprised when she took them along a desolate track, the road barely visible, not just because of the snow, but because of the weeds and grass which were growing up through the thin layer of tarmac, all which told him how little this road was used._

_Eventually, they pulled into a farmyard, coming to a stop in front of an old derelict farmhouse. As soon as he switched off the engine, she had been out of the vehicle and striding confidently up to the rotten front door which was hanging half off its hinges._

_Reaching over to the glove box, he felt around until he found a flash light and then followed her inside the dilapidated building. Treading carefully over the cracked and rubble covered stone floor, he had found her standing beside a rather solid looking oak mantle piece framing a large fireplace. He remembered clearly how she had looked back at him with a haunted expression in her eyes._

"_We'll stay har til tha mornin'," she announced. "Thar's a farm a bit further along tha lane. It belongs ta a cousin; we'll call thar tomorra."_

"_Why not go straight thar now?" he asked, wondering why she wanted to stay in such a dump._

"_Cuz I wan' ta show ya this place."_

_She'd run her hand along the oak beam and smiled. Under the beam of the flash light, it had suddenly struck him she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen._

"_This wa' our home befer me daddy wa' taken. We lived har til I wa' nine years old. Then Pat Jr said we'd be better off livin' in tha city." She pointed to a spot next to where she stood. "Me Mammy hadda rocking chair right here by tha fire...After havin' a bath, me and Claire used ta sit in front o' tha fire ta dry our hair and she would brush out tha tangles."_

_She had taken his hand and given him the tour of the building, telling him tales of their family life up until Patrick Glenanne Senior had disappeared into a British prison, never to be seen again; tales of a childhood so utterly foreign to his own he found it hard to comprehend. Her father was an educated gentle man, who had once wanted to be a priest, but who also made bombs and took British lives without a qualm. Her mother, Maeve Glenanne, kind and loving and fiercely protective of her children, had once held six policemen at bay with a sawed off shotgun, giving her husband and eldest child time to escape arrest. _

"_Mammy had Colin hide tha shotgun in tha attic, befer tha policemen broke tha door down. When they couldn't find tha gun, they ransacked the house." She smiled. "One o' tham broke me favorite doll so I sank me teeth inta his ankle. It took me Mammy an' Seamus ta get me off ham."_

"Michael, don't fall asleep now. It's nearly time for you to get out."

He opened his eyes, confused for a second, his mind still in that abandoned farmhouse. Blinking as he tried to adjust to the bright lights of the bathroom, he looked around until he brought Fiona's features filled with concern into focus.

"I'm fine," he spoke automatically.

"Of course you are, Michael... I need to do your back now and wet your hair... Are you okay with that?"

He couldn't stop the shudder that ran through his body at the thought of water pouring over his head…. into his eyes and his mouth until he was unable to breathe, his throat closing up his chest burning and …. He forced the panic down, pushing it away and taking several deep breaths to settle his nerves.

"Help me sit up," he spoke with determination. He could beat this, no, he _would_ beat it.

"Are you sure?" Her fingers combed through his hair, getting trapped in the sweaty, greasy strands. If he had needed any more convincing that he needed his hair washed, that gross sensation was enough.

"Yes, now help me sit up... Before Billy and Sam come in to take me back to bed."

Shutting his eyes tightly, breathing shallowly through his nose, Michael mentally prepared himself for what was going to happen.

_She had directed him to a pile of old dry wood and a stack of equally old newspapers dating back years. Then as he built a fire, she had gone out to the car and brought in a several blankets and a large sheet of tarpaulin._

_Cuddling up against the cold, wrapped in old blankets, they had got to know each other, or rather he had got to know her as she spoke with real warmth of her early childhood. And as she talked and he listened, cuddles to keep warm turned into exploratory caresses as a spark of passion ignited between them. _

_It wasn't the first time they'd kissed or cuddled and it wasn't the first time it had threatened to spill over into passion, but it was the first time she had opened up to him, about who she was and who she had been, and let him into her world._

_And it was the first time they were completely alone, completely alone and without her brother Sean within shouting distance._

_So they had kissed, tentatively at first before growing more ardent, his hand had closed over her breast and he had felt the rapid flutter of her heart under his palm. Holding her close, he had reached up to brush stray tendrils of hair away from her face and found himself staring into her blue-green eyes, which at that moment had been filled with a mixture of adoration and fear._

"_I- it's." She had bitten down on her bottom lip. "It's been a while."_

"_Me too, luv," he'd answered, surprised by the hoarseness in his voice. "Let's take it slow, huh?"_

_He'd had no idea what made him say that. Up to that time, sex had been all about gratification, his and the woman he was with. But with her, it was different. In the dark and the cold of the old Glenanne home, he'd sensed her fragility, deeply hidden and protected behind a layer of brash aggression._

_What happened that night changed him. She was supposed to be an asset. He was supposed to be consolidating his position amongst the radical members of the RIRA. But nobody had ever told him about making love and how it felt like nothing else, how it made all other sexual encounters pale into insignificance. After that first time, she was like a drug, a dangerously addictive drug._

_He remembered clearly how she had been splayed out beneath him, her red gold hair fanned out about her, her arms laying slack above her head as if in surrender. Supporting his weight on his elbows, he had looked down upon her and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. And in return she had graced him with a soft dreamy smile, her arms lazily lifting to wrap around him, drawing him into her again and, from that moment, on he knew he would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe._

"Michael, Michael, it's all done." A towel landed around his shoulders, and soft kisses feathered his cheek. "You can come back now. It's safe." Fiona's voice drew him reluctantly out of the past and back to the present.

His eyes opened and he slowly straightened his back. It took all his concentration, but he lifted one arm to draw her closer to him and, as his lips sought out hers, his other hand lifted to cup her cheek as he deepened the kiss.

It lasted only for a second before weakness overtook him, but when he released her, he was pleased to see the flush of pink on her cheeks.

**()()**

**A/N:** You can find the M-rated story of Michael's first time in the **Derry Feb '98** chapter of **Who We Once Were.**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews for this story, I appreciate all your feedback. Don't forget to check out some of my other stories: Who We Once Were & Firecracker are both on the M page which go into far more detail about some of the things mentioned here.  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty Six**

"How long has it been now, Sam?" Fiona pouted as she looked across to where Michael lay slumbering.

"About ten minutes longer than it was since the last time you asked. He'll wake up when he's good and ready, Fi. Don't get your panties in a bunch. Billy said the bath would wipe him out and he was right." Sam took a sip of his freshly made, minty mojito as he glanced up from the laptop resting on the arm of his chair. "What did Jojo want?"

Fiona let out a long sigh. "He wants me to join him on a trip to Cuba," she announced, dropping down heavily on to the edge of Michael's bed in a subconscious effort to make him at least show some sign of waking. "Jojo's friend, the one who set fire to his boat to get rid of the Coast Guard for us, wants to meet me and find out all about that cargo of guns. Jojo promised him a share."

"Fi?" Sam shook his head, his disappointment plain to see. "You're _still_ planning on going ahead with that?"

"I gave my word, Sam. I'll only be gone for twenty four hours." She reached out and took hold of Michael's lifeless hand. "But I was hoping he would wake up before I have to leave."

"Mike'll be fine," Sam replied.

"Jojo has gone off to fuel up one of his cigarette boats. He wants to leave as soon as possible, spend the night going over the details with Pedro and get back here in the morning. Ria has a sports day, and he doesn't want to miss it."

Pursing her lips, she glanced at her wristwatch; she didn't have much time left. Sam seemed to have faith Michael would be fine, but she wasn't so sure. She looked down at him, her free hand ghosting over his freshly shaven cheek. Leaving him without being able to reassure him she would return felt wrong. He'd been so dependent on her for the last ten days she wasn't sure how he would cope if he woke up and she was gone.

"We should wake him up, and tell him. It wasn't that long ago you said he was going to be confused about falling asleep in the bath and waking up back in bed. If I'm not here…"

"So don't go." Sam had made it clear all along he disagreed with her and Jojo's plan to mount an assault on a cargo ship to steal a container of illegal arms. "Give Jojo the details if that's what it takes to keep us safe. With everything we've got going on, we don't need the added hassle of an angry arms dealer chasing us down cuz you couldn't keep your sticky fingers to yourself."

Reluctantly she turned away from her study of Michael's features to send an irritated glare in Sam's direction. _He didn't get it... He had always disapproved of her friends and her way of making money. Yet it was precisely those friends who had gotten them out of Miami, and saved them from being arrested by the Coast Guard while his friends wanted to lock Michael up and throw away the key._

"I gave my word. I know that may be a foreign concept to you, but there is such a thing as honor amongst thieves."

Sam snorted at this, making a big show of choking on his mojito. "Sorry, it's the idea of _honor_, when you're talkin' about _stealing_ a shipment of _illegal_ weapons. It's just kinna funny."

Taking a quick look around the room, Fiona's eyes lighted on a the pile of spare pillows which they used to prop Michael up when he was awake. Snatching one up, she hurled it in the direction of the smirking ex-SEAL.

Sam easily deflected the large soft object aimed at his head and laughed. "Ha, violence is the last refuge of the incompetent, lady."

Sam always knew just the right buttons to press to bring her temper to the fore. Pointing a rigid finger towards his grinning face, she got to her feet and moved away from the bed. She wanted Michael to wake up, but not to the sound of his friends in the middle of an argument.

"This isn't funny, Sam! You've seen how he is. He won't understand if I'm not here." She watched as Sam frowned and stared into the empty glass in his hand.

"We should be sticking together," he finally answered. "At least until we can sort out who are the bad guys are. But if you _really_ have to go, Mikey will be okay. He's stronger than you think. I can make it clear you're coming back."

Fiona nodded, sadly. "I have to go and get ready. Call me if he wakes up."

Without waiting for Sam to reply, Fiona went to her own room to pick up a few things she might need for a night away. She was angry that Jojo had dropped this bombshell on her with barely a moments notice. But apparently his friend Pedro had been pushing for the last couple of days to have a face to face meeting with the woman who was promising him thousands of dollars in automatic weaponry. He had put off mentioning it as long as possible. But now Michael seemed to be over the worst, he wanted to get the trip to Cuba over with as quickly as possible.

_"Look, missy, the guy burnt out his whole galley to save you and your friends asses, the least you can do is meet up wit' him."_

_"I don't have a problem meeting with your friend. I have a problem with only getting an hours notice, Jojo," she'd complained._

_But the gunrunner had just grinned back at her. "You should feel honored, darlin'. Old Pedro wouldn't have set his boat alight for just anybody. But for the chance to work with the infamous Fiona Glenanne… all you've gotta do is smile and tell him all about those shiny little guns looking for a new home and I'll have you back here for lunchtime tomorrow."_

She knew she really had no choice in the matter. Jojo had stuck his neck on the line helping them out, especially after coming under attack from a drone and saving them from arrest by the Coast Guard. Besides if it wasn't for Michael being so sick, she'd have been the one calling for a meeting with her new business partner in her planned robbery on the high seas.

With a small bag packed, she crossed back over the hallway to see if Michael was showing any signs of waking up. He had fallen into a deep sleep in the space of time it had taken her to go to the bathroom door to let Sam and Billy know bath time was over. When she had turned back, she had found Michael slumped down in the bath with his head lolling over the side of the tub. He had slept through all their efforts to wake him and in the end Billy had decided the easiest thing to do was going to be to move him back to the bed, dry him off and let him rest; that had been nearly five hours ago.

"Sorry, Fi, he's still asleep," Sam spoke as soon as she stepped through the door. Then he had flashed a cheesy grin at her. "But, Billy came in while you were packing and said we should try to wake him up. Mikey needs to eat and drink. So you can get to say your goodbyes."

**()()**

_"Hey, Mikey! Come on time to wake up, buddy."_

He heard the words, but he was warm and comfortable and he was sure it was too early to get up.

"I'm comin'," he mumbled out a reply.

_"Ah-huh, fella, you gotta get up. Doctor's orders..."_

"Soon," he grumbled and tried to turn on to his side.

_"He's not going to get up if you baby him, Sam... Michael! Wake up!"_

This voice was female and the sharp squeeze to his hand was a warning that he'd better wake up.

_"Do I have to kick your ass to get you up?"_

And there it was: the dulcet tones and gentle nature of Fiona Glenanne urging him to open his eyes.

He half opened one eye and then the other before opening both fully. The room was bathed in a soft light from the afternoon sun coming in through the open window. He stared first at Fiona, who was stood on his left, and then turned his head slightly to see Sam standing on his right before scanning the rest of the room.

"I'm up." Michael yawned and slowly stretched his arms out.

"About time, too," Fiona said as she helped him to sit up while Sam held out a glass of water.

"Here, get this in you, brother, while I go see what's for dinner."

Michael took a sip of the water and then handed the glass back. "Dinner...? What time is it? How long was I out?"

"It's four fifty... You've been out for nearly five hours. We carried you back here when you fell asleep in the bath," Sam informed him. "Now, I'm gonna leave you two kids to talk while I go check on what Billy's cooked up for you."

Michael's brow creased in a puzzled frown as his heightened sense of awareness fed into his deeply ingrained paranoia. Sam was acting like he couldn't get out of the room fast enough while Fiona looked worried and her toothy smile was too wide and forced to be genuine. He felt his trepidation grow and tiny beads of sweat broke out along his hair line.

"Fiona?"

He reached out for her hand and he was grateful when she took it, entwining their fingers together as she sank down onto the bed, sitting so she could face him. He tried to smile back at her, but only managed a tiny upturn of the corners of his mouth.

"Fi, what's the matter? Has – has something happened?"

She sighed and held his hand between both of hers. "Nothing's happened."

Her words sounded as false as her smile looked and his heart skipped a beat. He glanced around the room again before turning his attention fully onto Fiona. In his effort to search for clues to what was going on, his eyes suddenly zeroed in on the way her tongue licked over her lips and the movement of her throat as she nervously swallowed.

"I'm going on a little trip, that's all. I have to go to a meeting with Jojo."

"O-kay, but you'll come back?" He couldn't hide how upset he was at the thought of her abandoning him.

"Of course, I'll be back tomorrow." Her smile faltered as she stroked her thumb over the back of his hand. "Are you sure you're okay?"

The news hit him hard, but he did his best to mask his feelings, managing to pull off a small smile of his own in an effort to reassure her he would be fine.

"Yeah, I'll be okay... It's one night, right?"

"That's right. See, you won't have time to miss me."

In the back of his mind there was a growing fear that she was going to finally leave him for good. It was nothing more than he deserved. He blinked as he was reminded of every word written in the MI5 dossier Doctor Vincent had shown him, detailing how he had left her all alone to deal with the fallout of his operation in Ireland with no explanation or warning. And now, he was weak and useless, with a whole alphabet soup of government agencies hunting him down plus another mystery enemy, this one even more powerful than the last one.

What could he offer her if she stayed at his side? He barely had enough strength to stand on his own two feet. It hurt more than he could bear, but if he was truthful he was a dangerous liability and she was probably far better off without him.

"Fiona." Jojo stuck his head around the door. "The boat is ready to go. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we'll be back."

Fiona sucked in a breath as Michael glared at his host.

"Five minutes, Jojo... Can you let Sam know I'm leaving?"

"Sure thing, girl... Just don't take too long, huh?"

They waited until Jojo left them alone and then she turned back to him.

"I have to go now, Michael... I'll be back _very_ soon."

She leaned over and went to place a kiss on his lips when he suddenly lunged at her, wrapping his arms about her and pulling her onto the bed on top of him.

_He couldn't let her go._ Holding her tightly to his body, he began to kiss her, his lips locked tightly to hers, his tongue pressing enticingly against her teeth begging her to surrender to him. He was filled with an almost primal urge to keep her at his side. _He couldn't lose her._

She fell into the kiss, yielding to his demands and his heart surged with relief as she allowed her body to mold against his and returned the passionate embrace. But then she slowly drew back, easily breaking his hold on her in his weakened state and getting to her feet.

"S-stay.." All his pride fell away at the thought of her going. In desperation he reached out for her again, but she caught hold of his wrists.

"It's not for long – – Michael, I have to go. I'll be back tomorrow. You'll hardly notice I'm gone."

Tears were welling in her eyes. It spoke volumes about Michael's condition that he was reduced to begging._ It was a damned shame Markov had been blown to pieces. She had a whole list of nasty things she would have liked to have done to FSB scientist before killing him._

"Why -?" he gasped "Why do you have to go now? At least tell me where you're going?" It was as if he had been dropped back into the ocean, he immediately felt lost. _Why did she have to leave right now?_

She sighed and stroked the back of her hand over his cheek. "I'm going to a meeting with one of Jojo friends. He helped us to keep you safe and now he wants to meet with me, that's all. It's nothing to worry about. There's no danger. But the meeting is in Cuba, so I'll be gone overnight."

"Cuba?" A shock jolted through his chest, making him gasp.

"This is why I didn't want to say anything. I'll be fine."

She cupped his cheeks between the palms of her hands tilting his head to make him look up at her.

"I'm going to be with Jojo and we're just going to see his friend." She forced him to make eye contact, and didn't let go until he showed signs of relaxing. "You have to trust me, Michael. I will be back tomorrow."

"Cuba…. isn't safe... Why can't he come here?" He'd been to Cuba. _There had been shooting, a lot of shooting – and explosions._

"This is Jojo's home. He keeps his family separate from his work. That's what makes it safe for us to hide here," she explained patiently.

"Okay, okay, I'm fine." He told her what she wanted to hear, but inside the fear was growing. "You go, I'm fine, I'm fine," he repeated over again.

Sucking in great gulps of air, Michael tried to make himself relax. But without warning, a wave of dizziness hit him and all of a sudden he wasn't lying in a bed speaking to Fiona. He was on a fast moving boat loaded down with equipment crossing the Gulf of Mexico.

_"Ha, who'da guessed it, Kid? Our first mission under the command of the Balkans station chief and she sends us all the way to Cuba. I tell ya, that's women for you. Just because this guy might have some relevant intel for her, we have to trail half way round the world when this little job could have been done by some chump outta the South American office." Larry Sizemore's mocking tones were muted due to the high powered motor of the boat carrying them from Miami to their destination in Havana._

"I'm going to get Sam and Billy... But then I have to go."

Lost in the memory of his first mission partnered with the legendary Larry Sizemore, Michael barely registered Fiona's fingers trailing along his arm. Then, when he did notice, it was too late. She was gone.

Michael looked around, breathing deeply. _He was alone_. Blinking and squinting, he tried to read the clock face on the wall. But his eyes refused to cooperate fully and the clock remained a blur. _She had left without a goodbye. He was going to have to go after her. Havana, Cuba… it was too dangerous. She needed back up!_

He pulled back the covers and swung his legs out of the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he rocked back and forth while his fingers dug into the sheets. He was already feeling light headed and a dull throb was building behind his eyes, but it didn't stop him shifting forward and then pushing up to stand on his own two feet. He stood swaying dangerously as he tried to keep his balance and then, after taking a deep breath, he took a wavering step forward and managed to stagger all the way to the door Fiona had disappeared through minutes earlier.

His chest was burning from the effort he had used in walking out of his room and as he clung to the wall, trying to follow where she'd gone, a stabbing pain shot through his skull and his legs crumpled beneath him. He slid down the wall, fighting to hold onto consciousness as his memory splintered and he ended up slumped on the floor with his legs splayed out before him.

"Oh, Jesus! Mike, what the hell are you doing, brother?"

The sound of Sam Axe's voice gave Michael a lifeline and he grabbed at it. Opening his eyes, he tried to focus on the older man as his mind continued to spin through a chaotic myriad of memories. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out at first. He clutched at Sam's arm to keep him there with him.

"Cuba… She's gone to Cuba, Sam," he finally managed to gasp.

"I know, Mikey, but she's gonna be back soon and she's gonna be pissed as all hell if she comes back and finds you all banged up."

"No, no, you don't… you don't get it…Dead Larry's there… Larry's in Cuba... It's an extraction."

Sam rocked back on his heels at this announcement, his complexion paling as he tried to work out if this was one of Michael's random hallucinations or if his friend really had kept in contact with his psycho former partner after Larry's return from the grave.

"What's he doing out here?" Billy Clemens dropped down beside Sam, elbowing him out of the way so he could check over his patient.

"He musta tried to follow her outta the bedroom and collapsed," Sam explained. "Is Fi still here?"

Billy shook his head. "They're on their way to the dock. Maybe if you run after them – but I could really use a hand getting him back to bed."

"I'm fine, fine. Stop Fi – Larry… Larry –" Michael's brow creased as if he was trying to remember something. Then he looked directly at Sam through glassy unfocused eyes. "What made you think I can speak Spanish?"

Sam sighed with relief; he was pretty sure now Michael was hallucinating a previous mission instead of admitting that he'd kept in touch with Larry Sizemore.

"I dunno, Mikey." He patted his friend on the shoulder. "But let's get you back to bed and you can tell me all about it."

Billy and Sam helped Michael back on to his feet and held him up between them as they walked him back to the bedroom and got him propped up back in bed.

"He's hallucinating again," Sam commented in a low voice as Billy shone a light into Michael's eyes while Michael tried to avoid the light and bat the small penlight away from his face.

"You don't say…" came the sarcastic reply. "And before you ask, no, I don't know why. The drugs should have cleared his system days ago." He fixed a blood pressure cuff around Michael's arm and watched as it inflated and then deflated. "One twenty over sixty...That's good and I couldn't feel any new lumps or bumps, so I don't think he banged his head when he fell." He sat on the edge of the bed and snapped his fingers, getting Michael to look over at him. "Michael, do you know where you are?"

Michael ignored Billy. Instead he looked up at Sam, his blue eyes blood shot and teary. "Get her back... Cuba isn't safe." He frowned again and wiped at his eyes, his hands were shaking again. "We -we're running an extraction. She isn't cleared. She shouldn't be there."

Sam sucked in his cheeks and looked worriedly from his friend to the medic before answering Michael as best he could.

"She's okay, brother. She's got back up."

"Larry… Larry doesn't like surprises."

"Larry's long gone, Mikey. D'ya remember you told us he had to shuffle off to Buffalo. Remember?"

"Buffalo?"

The memory of his last meeting with his old mentor shimmered in Michael's mind. He'd watched Larry through a sniper scope. Several other images came to mind, along with a rising sensation of nausea… Larry dying in a fire… He'd been there. He'd witnessed Larry walking into the oil refinery just before it blew. But then later, Larry was outside the loft, smiling at him while offering him a job.

_"I want you to kill a lady... Meet Jeannie Anderson."_

Why would he want to shoot Larry? _He could come up with maybe a dozen reasons._

"Am goin' to be sick," Michael announced in a strangled whisper, his stomach already heaving_._

Sam grabbed a bowl from the table and held it under his friend's chin as the younger man gagged and brought up the small amount of water he'd had to drink earlier. Laying his head back, Michael felt faint as tremors ran through his body.

"Billy, no offense, buddy, but go call the lady doc. I think we need some help here."

"I was goin' to suggest that myself. Try to keep him awake and calm. I'll make the call." He reached the door and turned back. "You want me to get Fiona back here?"

Sam thought about it and then shook his head. As much as he hated what she was doing, they needed Jojo's goodwill. "No... If he won't settle down, you can sedate him til she gets back."

While Billy went off to make a call to Pilar Zedillo, Sam took his spot on the bed and wiped down his friend's face with a damp cloth.

"Mikey, what makes you think Larry is in Cuba?" Sam started gently, hoping he was doing the right thing.

"I – I can't talk about it, can't -"

"Okay, I get it, classified stuff an' all that... But why do you think he is in Cuba _now_? You haven't run ops with Larry since '97... Do you remember? We all thought he was dead when he suddenly reappeared last year. He tried recruiting you into his murder for hire business, but we saved the girl and lord of darkness flew off back to his lair. Any of this sounding familiar, fella?"

Michael batted away the damp cloth. First Billy shining a light into his eyes and now Sam treating him like a complete invalid… it was beginning to wear on his already strained nerves. His mind was filled with a thick fog which made thinking clearly nearly impossible and it was driving him crazy. They kept telling him he'd only been gone for a month, that he'd had his head filled with lies, but it still felt like he'd been gone for a lot longer and everything around him was some sort of dream.

"Mike, think about it... You haven't talked to Larry in months. Tell me ya haven't been keeping in contact with that ghoul."

_Larry seemed to be amused that he'd grown up in Miami, but in all that time he had failed to pick up a single word of Spanish… well…no useful ones, anyway. The older, more experienced spy had brushed off the problem and had slapped him on the back. "Don't sweat it, Kid. You'll just have to keep your mouth shut and practice smiling a lot."_

"Larry came to see you. He wanted you to kill a lady called Jeannie." Sam kept his voice low as he encouraged his friend to remember the job. "Her scum bag of a step-son hired Larry to take her out, but you kept her safe," he continued, hoping that something he said would resonate in Michael's memory.

But Michael wasn't listening, at least not consciously. His mind was flitting rapidly through his every meeting and assignment with his old mentor: Cuba, Serbia, Bosnia, Russia, Ukraine and half a dozen other countries, all muddled up in a jumble of shootings, explosions, five star hotels, fine linens and designer suits across three continents. Then, without warning, his mind centered on their final meeting and a feeling of cold dread slowly crept up on him, covering him completely and wiping away all thoughts of his former mentor.

He had needed to meet with Larry's victim or "dead-ee" as he liked to call his targets. So he had called Fiona to ask for her help in getting Jeannie Anderson away from her friends to somewhere he could have a quiet word with the woman and explain that she had been marked for death. But when Fiona turned up, she hadn't been alone...

_She had a boyfriend, a civilian, a paramedic called Cameron? Callan? Chris -? Campbell... Fiona had a boyfriend named Campbell. She had gotten sick of the way he had strung her along, refusing to commit to any sort of relationship. So she had gone out and found herself a real boyfriend... That had to be where she had gone now. She wasn't in Cuba. She had run off to be with that -_

"Campbell!" He blurted the name out loud.

"Mike?" Sam jumped at the sudden outburst. "Jeez, a little warning before -"

"She's with Campbell," he accused bitterly, reaching out to grab hold of Sam's arm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam grinned and shook his head. "Campbell is long gone, brother. She came back to you. It's been tough watching the two of ya. I mean, she wore ya down, Mikey. But I guess you weren't really putting up much of a fight either. I think when Fiona met up with your old fiancée, the pair of you suddenly realized you wanted more than the occasional booty call."

Michael felt his skin flush and he released Sam's arm. Resting back, he kept his eyes on his friend.

"Campbell's gone?"

"Yeah, brother, so you can relax about her running off... Though if you want to make a break for it, before she starts checking out Miami real estate and asking you to look through home decorating magazines, I'm sure I-" Sam stopped his light hearted bantering when he saw his friend's look of horror. "It's okay, Mikey. It's just a joke."

"A joke?"

"Yeah, a bad one." Sam ran a hand over his hair while he studied his friend's features. The confusion of a few minutes earlier was gone, replaced by exhaustion and calm. "You okay with the whole Cuba thing now?" he asked warily, half afraid that he was going to trigger another episode.

Michael tried to smile, but the effort was too much. Instead he sighed. "Larry's not in Cuba, is he?"

"I don't know, probably not... My guess is he has as many enemies as you do and there's a lotta of the old KGB guys living it up in Havana these days."

Michael rubbed a hand over his eyes and yawned. "I -"

Whatever he was about to say died as Billy stepped into the room clearing his throat. "Sam, could I have a word? I -er I need help with something."

Sam scowled at the medic's bad attempt at subterfuge. But when he turned back to Michael, the younger man was already falling back to sleep.

Getting to his feet, Sam joined Billy in the hallway, neither man wanting to move too far away from the bedroom door.

"So, what's the problem now?" the ex-SEAL demanded in a low tone.

"I just spoke to Pilar and she's concerned about the blood test results."

Sam closed his eyes, preparing himself for the worse. "And?"

"That's the thing... She opened her mail today, expecting to find the results, cuz they were already late. I mean, she'd put a rush on them, so she's been expecting them for the last day or so."

"Billy, are you coming to a point soon?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it. She called the lab and at first they said they hadn't received anything from her medical center regarding a Michael Finley. But she pushed and eventually they admitted they'd had an unannounced inspection by the Secretaría de Salud and her patient's results must have been lost."

"They lost Mike's results?" Sam Axe didn't believe in coincidences. He glanced worriedly back to where his friend was moving restlessly in his sleep.

_He had been a fool_. He had allowed his concern for his friend to override his training and then had compounded his mistake by letting his guilt get in the way of doing what was necessary to keep them all safe. He had been so busy searching for clues on this new powerful enemy that he had failed to take into account that the people who wanted Michael would be busy hunting them down.

Strauss, Berman and whoever it was pulling their strings had had plenty of time to study the drones telemetry before Jojo's men destroyed it. They would have known from Markov's reports that Mikey would be in dire need of medical attention.

Sam blinked and looked away from his friend. This wasn't the time for self-recrimination. If he had put his foot down and said no to involving Pilar Zedillo, Michael would be dead or dying from dehydration. He ran his hand over his chin before turning back to Billy.

"How long before we can move Mikey? I mean, if we have to make a run for it, could he survive it?"

"He's getting stronger, but -" Billy shook his head. "You try to go on the run with him, he'll be dead within a couple of days. He needs lots of rest and monitoring at the very least. Maybe, in another week, but even then -" The medic shrugged his shoulders.

"Okay, so we're not going anywhere." Sam was determined that there wasn't going to be any more mistakes. "You watch Mike," he ordered as the former SEAL turned and strode off.

"Where're ya going?" Billy asked the older man's retreating back.

"I have some stuff to do _right now."_


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty Seven**

Sam Axe sat down in one of the wooden chairs outside on the veranda, taking a few minutes to unwind. It had been a busy couple of hours for the ex-SEAL since Billy Clemens had announced that their safe haven might not be as safe as they all thought; hours that he had spent mostly on the phone and radio, as he did his best to make sure his best friend continued to get the rest he needed to recover from his time in the hands of a Russian interrogation specialist.

Staring up at the dark, star scattered sky, Sam tilted his head back and breathed in the sweet aroma of the night blooming jasmine growing up the thick wooden supports. He would have to head back inside soon and check on how Michael was doing. Finding his friend laid out on the floor had been one hell of a shock and listening to him babble about Larry Sizemore running an operation in Cuba had nearly stopped his heart. _Who woulda thought Michael Westen having a hallucination was good news? _He sighed heavily_, unless of course the alternative was Dead Larry turning up to add his own brand of crazy to the mix._

"Your ears recovered yet from Jojo cussing you out?"

Sam was jerked from his musings as Trini Delaney strolled over to join him. As she sat down facing him over the large wooden table, she placed two shot glasses on the top along with a full bottle of Tequila.

"I think Fiona is gonna get the worst of it." Sam watched as she filled the glasses and handed him one. "Though, come to think about it, _he's_ stuck with her. So they're probably about even." He dipped his head then and offered her a small smile of apology as he remembered Jojo's reaction to the news his family hideaway might have been compromised. "We didn't mean to bring this trouble to your door. We thought -"

"Don't worry about it. De nada," she dismissed his worries. "We'll get plenty of notice if somebody comes asking questions." She nodded to the perimeter wall where it was possible to make out the silhouette of a man on guard duty. "It's one of the beauties of this place; there's only one road to watch and the sea around here is bounded by reefs and rocks... Salud." She raised her glass.

"Salud," Sam replied and, after a quick clink of glasses, they both downed their drinks in one swallow. "I don't think we'll be dealing with a full on assault team, at least not yet." Sam grinned, as he leaned forward to refill both glasses. "I mean, these guys who are coming after us are working fast, but all they've got is Mike Finley, the doc's name and the location of her clinic and as nobody's been around askin' questions, I think we're okay."

"And by tomorrow morning the word will have spread throughout Santiago de Cuba that Fiona Glenanne is looking for transport to Brazil and the name of an underground doctor." Trini took another long gulp of tequila, emptying her second glassful without any sign of discomfort. "You all make it sound _so_ simple."

"Hopefully it will be. If the bad guys turn up at the clinic, Pilar is gonna tell 'em we came in with Mikey in a pretty bad way, but then we left without waiting to get the results of the tests she ran. Meanwhile, Fiona and your husband are going to be selling the lie by Fi showing her face around Santiago. That should be enough to draw all the baddies away and give us some breathing space... See, easy peasy." Sam finished his beverage in one go.

"Ooh, don't you try that wid me, Sam Axe," Trini chuckled. "Easy peasy, my ass... If it's so easy, why do you wan' my boy an' his friends watchin' the harbor? An' why is Pilar comin' out here early tomorrow morning?" She poured their third measure of tequila.

Sam swallowed and stared into his hostess's dark brown eyes. He had forgotten for a moment she was the wife of a major gunrunner and not one of their easily fooled clients. "Okay, maybe not easy, but the lady doc is comin' out to give Mikey a quick look see, jus' to see how he's doin' now that he's getting back on his feet. As for havin' somebody watch the harbour, it's just a precaution you know, like the guys on the walls. Be prepared _is_ the Navy SEAL motto."

"I'm pretty sure it's the Boy Scouts' motto, Sam, but I get what you mean." She pushed his replenished glass so it was in front of him. "You'd best get that down you... I've got a couple of jobs for you tomorrow morning... Jojo's men are all gonna be busy an' I have a safe house - well, more of a bolt hole- that needs cleaning out in case we need it."

**()()**

Michael's eyes moved rapidly under tightly closed lids and his lips parted silently, forming words as he slipped deeper and deeper into the dreamscape waiting for him. In his mind's eye, he stood outside on the pavement of a busy Miami street, the early morning sun shining brightly in the clear blue sky above him and hordes of tourists brushed by on their way to breakfast or in search of a prime spot on the beach.

A pretty girl on roller blades sailed past him, turning to flash him a bright smile and call out a shy greeting. But Michael only had eyes for one woman whose bright smile and tousled auburn hair he had already glimpsed in the crowd. Only she wasn't alone and his dream was becoming more of a nightmare...

"_Michael, I want you to meet my brilliant, adorable paramedic boyfriend Campbell."_

There was a sinking feeling in his gut and a sharp pain in his chest which began at the word "boyfriend."

"_I just want to know if this going anywhere, Michael." In another memory, she had looked so sad and small, standing there in the darkened loft, removing her bracelets, asking if there was more to their relationship than the occasional reconnection_.

Then he was back to being forced to watch her fawn over Mr. Bland and uninteresting.

"_You didn't wake us... We were already up."_

He thought he hid his chagrin, but in reality it was like a knife twisting inside him.

"_What do you think of him?"_

It was his own fault he had driven her into the arms of this perfectly normal man. There was no room in his life for complications and Fiona Glenanne was the most complicated woman he had ever met.

His mind dredged up another image. They were back in the loft, at the work bench.

"_You left, Michael, you had a choice to make and you made it. I always thought, maybe, when it came down to it - but you didn't." He'd chosen to leave her again... so she had left him for..._

Campbell, what sort of name was that, anyway? A clean cut, all American boy sort of name obviously, someone kind and thoughtful, and a paramedic, too. What was there not to like about him? He could give her everything she thought she wanted: a nice safe life, a little bit of normalcy, the white picket fence, kids and no doubt a large shaggy coated dog, like the ones her mother kept back in Ireland.

"_I know how much you like eggs."_

"_Mmmmm"_

"_Over easy?"_

"_Mmmm, ahhhh, ohh, don't you just love him?"_

She loved Spanish omelettes, egg whites only. What did this upstart know of Fiona Glenanne, IRA operative, bank robber, and gun runner? Did this ordinary man have any idea that the extraordinary woman fawning over him could kill him in half a dozen ways without messing up a single strand of her long auburn hair?

"_Would ya like ta dance?" _Now he could smell the cigarette smoke, hear the loud raucous voices shouting over the sound of the fiddle and drums of the Celtic band playing in the corner of the dark dingy bar.

He wondered if she'd stuck a gun into the chest of dear, sweet Campbell when he got up the nerve to ask for a date... Then he remembered the text message she'd taken while they had been waiting for that crazy arms dealer Seymour Talbot to put in an appearance. The _perfect_ boyfriend had asked her out in a text message.

Suddenly, they were sitting at the work bench again, light streaming through the windows...

"_I'll always care about you, Michael and I'll still help you with your thing and you'll still help me with mine, but we can no longer be together." ...She was letting him go, she was moving on...just like he'd said he'd wanted for a long time..._

And there he was again, forced to watch as her fingers brushed against the interloper's arm, her lips on his stupid lips, his dumbass smile and earnest expression. Michael knew he could break Campbell like a twig, but that wouldn't get her back.

He wanted her to be happy... He wanted to see the smile on her face like the one she wore when something went _BOOM!_... He wanted to see her eyes light up and her fingers move restlessly the way they did when he handed her a shiny new gun, watching the gentle touch of her fingers skimming over the shiny smooth surface of the barrel, while her right hand wrapped expertly around the chequered grips.

She _had_ to come back to him; she always did in the end. How many times had she left the loft angry or hurt, only to come back the following day? But maybe he'd turned her away one too many times.

"_I- I lost you, the other day." He'd seen the pain in her eyes, but instantly dismissed it; he came back. What was the problem?_

He didn't mean to play with her emotions. He didn't mean a lot of the things he had done in his life. But sometimes you just had to look at the big picture, weigh up the costs, and make the hard choices. Do the right thing.

The scene shifted again. She'd been helping him look for bugs in the loft, but then..."_This is the perfect time to discuss why you left me."_

This was what he meant. _She_ _was too damned complicated._

"_I'm doing this for Campbell. I want to make him happy."_

The pain was physical. It hit him in the chest, just seeing them together, thinking about them _being_ _together._

"_Oh, I think we've socialized enough for one day." _She had been sprawled out on _his_ bed, but staring suggestively over at lover boy Campbell.

"_Fiona Glenanne will wreck your career. Are you willing to throw everything away over a pretty face?"_

His old mentor's words of warning echoed inside his head, as a cold chill came out of nowhere and the scene shifted yet again.

_"She was your asset, yes? Your lover? Yet you willingly deceived her, your actions got her friends arrested or killed and then, when you had finished using her, you snuck away in the middle of the night. Why, when you nearly destroyed her life, would she want to help you?"_

Michael whimpered, his fingers clutched at the sheet covering his body as Doctor Vincent stepped out of the shadows and, in his claw-like hands, the faded red, stiff cardboard folder that Michael had learned to hate. He shrank back into the pillow, as his arms and legs suddenly locked as if being held in restraints.

The two realities were beginning to vie for space, twisting around each other, confusing him and leaving him breathless. He was unaware of Billy Clemens trying to wake him or of the oxygen mask being placed over his nose and mouth.

"_Why would Fiona Glenanne consider you a friend?"_

The folder landed on his stomach, causing him to flinch. He could see the seal of Her Majesty's Secret Service and in the top left hand corner stamped in blue ink: Glenanne F.C. He heard the rustle of the cover being opened and the loose pages being lifted out.

"_If I'd known it was the last supper, I would have chewed slower." She was staring at him, the trauma of the way he had left her hidden under a mask of sarcasm, her features clear in the single light shining in the darkness..._

Doctor Vincent, shoving the pages into his face, making him read the words, the musty smell of the aged documents causing him to wrinkle his nose in distaste. The overwhelming sensation of claustrophobia was driving him further back into his nightmare.

"_She joined up with another radical paramilitary after you left. They were quite the couple. They planted a large, home-made bomb on a school bus and it killed all eighteen ten year old girls, the bus driver and three schoolteachers."_

He had been unwilling to look at the photographs, but Dr Vincent made him. His head was held in a vice-like grip, keeping him still while the photographs were held up one by one before his eyes. Doctor Vincent's calmly ordering him to study the twisted burnt metal skeleton of the bus, the charred and broken bodies and the splatters of blood and gore.

"_We're playing army men." _It was Fiona's voice again, but with that American accent. It crackled in his ear as if he was hearing it through a phone.

"_They used ball bearings and screws in the bomb and copious amounts of rat poison, so any survivors would bleed out. This is what your supposed girlfriend did when you ran out on her. One short month after you left, she was living with this man." A photograph of a dark haired pale skinned man with blue eyes and a cocky expression was pushed in front of him. "And six months later she was murdering children."_

The doctor hadn't finished there. He had a lot more information to impart.

"_The cold blooded targeting of schoolchildren turned their own countrymen against them and they had to go on the run. Her boyfriend was killed in a shoot-out with the Ulster police force. She managed to get away, but not for long. She was arrested outside a small town called Rhyl in North Wales during an operation run by MI5. She was taken to stand trial at the old Bailey in London. The trial lasted a month, but it was mostly for show. She received a life sentence."_

The trial transcripts came next as Doctor Vincent read out loud the prosecution's case, taking his time as he described every sickening detail of Fiona Glenanne's fall.

"_Do you see now? Do you see why you need my help?... I'm only telling you all this to help you get better, Michael. It's important that you understand Fiona Glenanne is rotting away in a British asylum. Do you really want to end your days here in a hospital strapped to a bed? Stop fighting us and let us make you better. If you cooperate, you might even get to leave here one day... Isn't that what you want? You could leave here and be with your family."_

He surfaced, suddenly breaking free from his nightmare. Sitting up, he gasped for air, his hands tearing the oxygen mask away from his face while his legs kicked out at the sheet covering his legs.

He shook uncontrollably from the terror and confusion of his nightmare. Unable to look at or even acknowledge Billy Clemens who was trying to hold him steady, he teetered on the edge of the bed.

He remembered all the despair he had felt. He could still feel it welling up inside of him now. He had been so close to breaking, so close to accepting all of Doctor Vin - Markov, Viktor Markov's carefully crafted lies. His stomach knotted and a wave of heat washed over him, leaving him nauseous and breathless as vomit began to rise in his throat.

Then he fell back on to his bed, curling up into a protective ball as he continued to shake. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to block out the sound of Billy's soft cursing which mingled with sound of the medic cleaning up the mess sprayed all over the floor.

"Mike, c'mon man, you need to get cleaned up."

Michael curled up tighter as the medic's hand landed gently on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," He mumbled, not wanting anybody to see him.

"No, you're not. You need to get outta them clothes."

" 'm fine. Lemme alone. 'm fine."

He heard Billy sigh and then the sound of a chair being dragged across the room. Relaxing slightly, Michael lifted his head enough to see Billy and the chair disappear into the bathroom. Moments later, the medic was back at Michael's side, gently coaxing him to sit up.

"It'll be a tight squeeze, but I'm gonna help you into the bathroom and you can strip down and wash. I'll be right out here if you need me... Okay?"

Michael couldn't express how grateful he was to the medic for doing this, for understanding that he wasn't ready to face anybody. "Okay."

He slowly uncurled and, with Billy's help, removed his soiled T-shirt and allowed the older man to help him walk across the room.

Once his patient was settled in the chair, Billy busied himself turning on the taps to the sink and, once the water warmed up, placing the plug in the basin. All the time he worked, he explained what he was doing, hoping that he could keep Michael in the present and focused.

"I'm gonna fill the sink for you and then let you take over... You've gotta toothbrush on the side here. I've already put some toothpaste on it, so it's ready for you and there's plenty of towels next to you... Now I'm gonna leave you alone just for a few minutes while I get you something to eat. You okay?"

"Yeah," Michael remained slumped in the chair, staring blindly ahead.

"I'll only be a couple of minutes. That's all. Just, you know, just take things easy."

Michael let out a long shuddering sigh and dropped his head into his hands, hoping and praying Billy Clemens was going to be more than a couple minutes; a few hours would be better.

_"It's okay, Michael. It's me. You have to calm down, you're safe. Open your eyes. I'm here."_

He startled as Fiona's soft voice came to him. He could feel her presence all around him, the gentle touch of her palms cupping his cheeks, her lips brushing against his forehead.

"It wa' the girls," he spoke out loud, his voice and his accent raspy, as his throat was still rough from vomiting. "I knew it, deep down. I knew it wa' all lies. Ya'd never hurt a bairn, no matter whot I did ta ya. Ya'd never allow them ta bomb a bus full o' young ones."

He knew she wasn't there. But he allowed the memories of her lips laying kisses on his face, her fingers combing through his hair and the scent of her when he held her close, burying his nose in her hair to soothe him. It was like a balm to his soul and finally some relief from the nightmare.

**()()**

"Calm down Jojo." Fiona hid all her concerns behind a bright smile. "In the two years you've known me, have I _ever_ let ya down?"

"Ya never asked me to hide ya ex _government_ spy boyfriend before," Jojo pointed out as he tied up his Marauder cigarette boat to Pedro Gomez's rickety wooden jetty thirty miles north of the Cuban capital of Santiago de Cuba. "If it's his old bosses coming -"

"It won't be. They don't care about him. You heard Sam, he has a plan. So there's nothing to worry about. Honestly, Jojo, we're good at this sort of thing," she spoke airily and then gestured with a tilt of her head to the figure walking towards them holding a flash-light to show him the way. "Besides, if I'm not mistaken, here comes Pedro. Let's go explain to your friend how we intend to relocate lots of _very_ expensive weapons and then you can take me into Santiago, where I'll make a big show of begging for a ride for three over to Brazil."

Not giving the gunrunner a chance to argue with her, Fiona jumped agilely from the go-fast boat and landed on the wooden jetty.

"Pedro," the Irish woman smiled warmly and held out her hand. "Fiona Glenanne. Jojo has told me all about you." She charmed the tall skinny Cuban gentleman who, not to be out done, took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"Enchanted, Senorita Glenanne," he greeted her.

"So kind, Senor, now why dontcha show me your boat and I'll tell all about them lovely guns and how we're going to liberate them."

Jojo could only watch and follow on behind as she linked her arm with the old Cuban's and sashayed along the unstable wooden platform.

"It's gonna be a long night," he muttered, as Fiona's laughter floated out across the quiet cove.

**()()**

The meeting went well, so well that by midnight they had hashed out a strategy to board the German freighter and steal it's cargo of weapons. Happy with the thought of wealth coming his way, Pedro agreed to lend them one of his old cars and gave them directions to a smuggler's bar along the coast road.

"You go in there, ask about getting to South America and somebody will try to make some money off your misfortune," Pedro told them. "Get back here before daylight and I promise that if anybody comes asking, I'll tell them you stole one of my boats."

"We're gonna make this quick, girl," Jojo told her as he drove along the coast road. "I don't like the idea that a drone could be aiming a missile at my family right now."

"It won't happen, Sam Axe maybe be a drunken womanizer, but he is also a loyal friend and an ex-SEAL. He knows what he's doing." Then, without warning, she punched Jojo hard on his arm, causing the little car they were traveling into to swerve across the road. "And if ya ever tell ham thot, I'll fry yar eyeballs an' make ya eat them."

The gunrunner rubbed his arm and glanced across at her, trying to decide if she meant it. "You wouldn't -"

"Try me," she threatened and then smirked.

Tired and dirty, they called in at the bar Pedro had told them about. While Jojo stayed in the background, Fiona made her way around the bar asking about passage for three to South America. She wasn't shy about flirting and using all her wiles. This wasn't a time for subtly. She needed to make sure she was noticed and her urgent need to get far away would be reported to all the right people. Michael's well-being and Jojo's family's lives depended on her putting on a convincing performance.

After an hour of repeating her hard luck story, she was fairly certain that at least one of the people she spoke to was just waiting for her to leave before rushing off to make a call.

"We can go now," she announced, satisfied that as long as Pedro played his part, it would look like they had fled south.

"If these guys are tracking you usin' some drug that's left in Mike's blood, how does tellin' a load of second-rate smugglers you're goin' to Brazil help?" Jojo asked as they headed back to where he had tied up his boat.

"Oh, these guys aren't going to contact _our_ bad guys. They'll just be asking around and try to sell the information to anybody interested, Cuban police, FSB, CIA, basically anybody who'll pay them. If they have any sense, our bad guys will be listening for any chatter about our whereabouts."

"Great, you remember me sayin' Isla was my family home? That as far as anybody else is concerned, I'm jus' a charter boat captain out here."

Fiona lost the false good cheer. "I promise no harm'll come ta yar family, Jojo. I give you my word."

She was doing a good job of masking her own feelings. But deep down, she was terrified that whoever it was would find them and take Michael away. He was too weak to run. Sam had already explained that. All they could do was try to misdirect and then dig in.

Back at the jetty, Jojo wasted no time on goodbyes. They had a three hour journey back to Isla Mujeres; that is if he could keep his boat running at top speed most of the way. Daylight was only an hour or two away and he wanted to be well clear of Cuban waters before then.

While the Marauder cigarette boat cut through the choppy sea, every now and again leaving the water to take flight as Jojo opened the engines up to make a fast run back home, Fiona hung on tight and hoped they were going to get back in time and in one piece.

There was no talking. Traveling at such a reckless speed meant Jojo had to keep his whole attention on steering the powerful boat. One wrong move could have them both thrown into the sea or have the boat capsize and possibly kill them both in the process.

Normally, Fiona would have been enjoying the adrenaline rush of the salty spray hitting her on her face as she helped to keep watch for any obstacles in their path. But in the grey half-light of the pre-dawn, her mind kept straying back to Michael and their future.

He had survived the journey from Key West to Mexico. He had gotten through the symptoms of withdrawal from the drugs the FSB interrogator had used to try to break him. He had even comeback to her after his heart stopped beating. No, there was no doubt in her mind that they were going to survive this latest predicament. After all, as far as she was concerned, there wasn't a problem she couldn't solve with a large stockpile of weapons and a box of C4.

All except one; she couldn't make Michael understand how trying to get back in to an agency that had abandoned him was a waste of time.

"_I don't get why you're so dead set on getting back in. Why go back to work for the people who've put you through all this?" _She had tried asking him to explain when Philip Cowan had come to Miami.

"_I want to clear my name. I want to know who did this to me. I spent my entire career doing something I believed in, Fi, something important."_

"_You're doing something important here, Michael. Think about it. The next time you're risking your life to talk to this Phillip Cowan fellow, you think about it." _They had been helping people who had nowhere else to turn. Wasn't that important enough? _Wasn't she important enough?_

How many times had he walked away from her for his job? Even when he no longer had a job, when they had kicked him out, he still clung to the ideal. He still treated her as second best.

"_This breakup, the two of you are making a huge mistake if you don't mind my saying." _Madeline had ambushed her on a girls' poker night, searching for an answer as to why her son was once again a single man.

"_I need you to know you are the best thing that ever happened to Michael. He's different when you're around. He's better. He's almost happy."_

"_Thank you for saying that. It's more than he'd ever said himself."_

"_I know. His father was the same way. But I see the way he looks at you, Fiona."_

"_I just can't -" _She had been unable to finish the sentence, but she hadn't needed to. Michael's mom knew exactly what she had wanted to say

"_Be the second most important thing in his life?"_

This was what was making things so damn complicated now. Because right now, she knew she _was _the most important thing in his life. He looked to her every time he was unsure, he clung to her while he slept and she had seen the way his eyes followed her about the room while he was awake. But deep down she knew as he got stronger, all of that would change. Sam knew it, too. He had tried to warn her before Michael was kidnapped, before Harlan turned out to be such a traitor.

"_So, what do you think Michael will do now he is just a Miami resident?"_

"_Well he's still burned and he's still Mike, so he's not just a Miami resident... I think he'll try to get back in," _Sam had reluctantly replied and, when she had complained, he had continued to stand up for his friend. _"Fiona, he did his government work, as you call it, for a reason."_

"_For what? His country? And what have they done for him recently, apart from betray him? Leave him for dead, ruin his life?" _Between the three of them, she had been convinced she was the only sane one in the group.

"_The fact you have to ask means you are never going to get it, Fi."_

He was right; she never would get it... It was ridiculous really. When somebody or something tried to kill you, it was time to accept the relationship was over.

Michael had let the CIA end their relationship back in Ireland, why couldn't he do the same for her?

_"Sam and I worked because she was like me. She didn't mind that my job was lying to people. She loved it. She did the same thing. It made being with her easy. And then I met you. It was- it was different. It was never easy. You knew a part of me she never did. And I left her because you don't marry someone when you love somebody else."_

Hell, he broken it off with his fiancée, Samantha Keyes, because she meant more to him than the brunette thief had, so why was it so hard for him to quit chasing after his old life in the Agency? They hadn't done anything but turn their collective backs on him and leave him out in the cold. Who had been there for him from the moment he woke up in that seedy hotel room?

Maybe this time he would finally get it. Maybe when he was feeling a bit better he would realize his beloved agency had done nothing to get him out of the clutches of a sadistic Russian interrogator. It had been _her and Sam,_ who had rescued him, and it had been _her _friends who had kept him safe.

Maybe Michael would finally figure out why, when his defenses had been stripped bare and he had no resources left, _she_ was the one he clung to, that _she_ was the one who gave him strength, _her strength,_ and _why_ she had come back to him, again and again, despite what he'd done to her.

_She only hoped it was enough._


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty Eight**

Four large shots of premium strength Tequila, taken one right after the other, had left Sam feeling hungry. He was on his way inside to pay visit to the kitchen before going to check on Michael, hoping that he was going to find his friend in a better state than when he had left room. Watching as Michael struggled to separate reality from the chaos of his damaged mind had been heartbreaking. It was hard to admit, but he was finding his best friend's mental state far more disturbing than his physical condition.

A few good meals and plenty of rest would see Michael's body returned to health, but the spy's mind was a totally different matter. Weeks of mental torture and experimental drug treatments had left Michael confused and disorientated. There was a small fear building in the back of Sam's mind that the psychological damage done to his friend was going to leave a permanent scar. Each improvement seemed to be followed by a fresh crisis.

"Sam!"

"Billy, what are –? Whose watching Mikey?" Sam scowled as the medic came into the kitchen.

"I came to get him something to eat and, for your information, he needed some alone time," Billy answered, as he pushed by Sam to open the refrigerator door.

"What's up with him now?"

"He had a nightmare, a really bad one. Took me forever to wake him up and, when I did, he threw up everywhere. Whatever it was really shook him up. Listen, I dragged a chair over into the bathroom so he could clean himself up. Like I said, he needed some time alone." The medic removed a plastic container holding the last of the chicken soup Trini had made the day before.

"But, it was just a nightmare, right? Not anything –?" Sam closed his eyes, waiting for the medic's answer. _Not another relapse, please, not another one_.

"I'm pretty sure." Billy shrugged. "Well, as sure as I can be. When he woke up he was lucid. Shook up, but he knew who I was and he could hold a conversation."

Removing the lid, Clemens placed the container in the microwave and turned to face Sam. "Look, I'm gonna take my time getting him something to eat. Why don't you go in and see how he's doin'... He needs somebody to talk to, but I don't think that somebody is me."

Sam took an apple from the nearby fruit bowl and took a big bite. "Mikey's not a big talker, in case you haven't noticed."

"Maybe, but I'm starting to agree with what you said earlier. He's better off when he has somebody there keeping him in the here and now and with Fiona gone, you're on deck for that task."

_He still had work to do making sure the Delaney home was safe and he had to check in with the men he had watching the harbor and the airport._ Sam took his time finishing the apple. _He wanted to help Michael in any way he could, but he also had defenses he needed to check on if he was to keep them all safe._

Tossing the apple core into the kitchen waste bin, he stood up straight. _He would just have to trust Jojo's men knew what they were doing for awhile longer. Right now, Michael needed his help._

"Sam," Billy called him back. "Encourage him to talk about what's going on in his head. If we know what he's going through, maybe we can help him. Oh, and remind him he's getting better. He's gotta believe he's gonna make a full recovery."

"Sure thing." He remembered something he had seen in the refrigerator which might help Mikey feel better. "You know what would cheer him up? There's a coupla blueberry yogurts in there... Can I promise him one?"

"Yogurt?... Sure, yeah... Tomorrow, if he does as he's told... As long as there's no set backs."

**()()**

Michael stared at his reflection in the small mirror attached to the wall above the sink and gulped back the wave of depression which threatened to overwhelm him at the sight of his ravaged features. The face staring back at him was thin and deathly pale. His blue eyes were sunken and blood shot, surrounded by dark rings as if the skin was bruised.

Raising a hand which felt like a lead weight, he skimmed his fingers along his sharp cheekbones and then over his smooth cheeks. Blinking slowly, he reminded himself of his recent bath, when Fiona had washed his hair, and then later while he had slept, she had given him a shave.

A tremor ran through his hand as another memory pushed in, reminding him of other times when icy water had been poured over his head and face, getting into his eyes, mouth and nose, choking him until he lost consciousness. _Fear, panic, his limbs thrashing, as he desperately tried to break free of the restraints holding him down, and all the while the calm reasonable voice of Viktor Markov, filling his head with lies._

Closing his eyes, he forced the memory back into a little box, shutting it away in the back of his mind; _it was the past, it was over and done. _He pursed his lips tightly together and breathed deeply through his nose._ He had survived the ordeal. It was time to move on._

When he opened his eyes, he let out the breath in a long sigh before reaching for the toothbrush Billy Clemens had left laying beside the sink. His hand landed heavily over the narrow plastic handle and, with a concentrated effort, he managed to get his fingers to curl around and grip the article.

_How could he move on, when he couldn't even pick up a damned toothbrush? This was something that he'd normally do without giving it a second thought._ Michael scowled angrily as he had to use all his willpower just to complete the simple task of gripping and lifting a toothbrush.

He was on the verge of hurling the toothbrush onto the floor and giving up the fight when a tiny sliver of reason broke through his self pity.

He was sick. They had all told him he had been put through hell by a man named Markov. He could see the evidence before his eyes, even though he had only brief, jumbled memories of the last few months. His friends had also told him he was getting better... He had to trust their judgement.

_Trust,_ he sighed and let the toothbrush fall into the sink. _When had he learned to trust? Not at home, certainly not as Frank Westen's second favorite punch bag. _

"_There's only two people I trust." _He remembered saying those words and it was true. Michael blinked and clumsily wiped a hand over his eyes. Fiona had come back to him regardless of how badly he had hurt her and she had stayed by his side, no matter how many times he'd pushed her away. She said she would be back. He had to trust that she would keep her word.

Sam had stuck by him through the years. His best friend had seen him at his very worst, when the last thing he deserved had been help and support. Sam had rescued him and protected him when he'd been unable to stand up on his own before. If the ex-Seal told him he would get through this, that he was getting better, then he was and he would. Michael took another look in the mirror. It was true, he had been worse than this... And he had got better.

Hell, on his last official mission with Larry Sizemore, when everybody thought his old partner had been incinerated in the same explosion which had left him barely alive, he had still survived and eventually been able to return to duty.

He remembered how the staff in the ICU had jokingly refered to him as Frankenstein, saying he'd had more stitches and staples in his head than Boris Karloff had ever imagined. Hearing them calling him "Frankie" while they thought he was unconscious had spurred his efforts to regain his ability to speak just so he could tell them to cut it the hell out.

He had spent months in intensive care, followed by even longer recuperating with long sessions of physiotherapy. Most importantly, he had recovered. It had taken a long time and dedication, but he had done it then and he could do it again.

The incident in St Petersburg hadn't been the only time he had dodged death. He felt his resolve growing stronger, as in a flash other times when he had fought back against the odds came to the fore, reminding him he was stronger than he thought.

He could hear his mother whining to the last family counsellor she had dragged him to see, desperate to manipulate him into opening up about where he had been during his long absence from his family home.

"_Michael always called me on my birthday. But about eight years ago, he forgot." She had complained._

"_I was injured. I spent six weeks in a field hospital without a phone. So, I could not communicate."_

He had been pleased with his answer. Almost as pleased as he had been when the doctors had told him the bullet that had hit him in the back had missed his spine and he would indeed walk again.

"Hey Mikey, how are ya doin', buddy?" At the sound of his friend's voice, Michael turned his head in time to see Sam Axe stroll across the bedroom with a wide welcoming smile on his face. "So, how're ya feelin' after your nap?" The older man stopped long enough to pick up a clean set of pyjamas which had been on the pile of clothes Fiona had bought before she had left for her secret meeting.

"I'm fine, Sam," Michael answered, as he carefully lowered himself back into the chair. "Where's Fi? Is she coming back yet?" He hadn't meant to sound so needy, but he couldn't stop himself asking the question.

"Tomorrow, buddy, she only left a coupla hours ago, remember? C'mon, I saw Billy in the kitchen. He's getting you some more of that chicken soup and a milkshake, a strawberry one, I think."

"Great." Michael tried to show a little enthusiasm, but he could already feel his stomach rebelling at the mere thought of food.

"Hey, don't knock the chicken soup, mister. You tore it up before and I happen to know that there's a blueberry yogurt with your name on it for breakfast if you eat up all your dinner tonight." Sam was in front of him now, holding out a set of light blue cotton pyjamas. "So, you get into these an' I'll get your bed ready."

Michael knew what Sam was doing and he was grateful that his friend was giving him the space he needed to work out how to dress himself. As Michael struggled with the buttons on the top, he could hear Sam making small talk while he pulled back the bed covers and made a big deal of plumping up the pillows.

"C'mon, Mikey, you wanta hold my hand or are you ready to make your own way back to bed?"

_Walk on his own_..._?_ Michael looked out of the bathroom to where the bed was positioned in the next room. It was maybe six or seven steps. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be a problem. Now, it felt like Sam was asking him to climb a mountain. Sucking in a breath, he pulled himself onto his feet. Sam wouldn't have suggested it if the older man didn't think he could do it...

_You're getting better, Mikey... You might not feel like it, but you're stronger than you think..._

"I don't need you to hold my hand, Sam." Michael offered up a tired smile.

"Good man. Now, move out, soldier. I hear Billy coming down the hall with your chow."

Taking a second to gather up all his strength and concentration, Michael slowly walked out of the bathroom. Each shuffling step caused his heart to beat harder and his chest to ache as his breaths came faster and more forced. But, in no time at all, he found himself standing next to his bed and he gratefully slumped down into it, letting Sam pull the covers over his legs.

"Good work there, fella," Sam beamed enthusiastically. "And here's your dinner."

They watched as Billy came into the room carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a tall glass filled with a thick pale pink liquid.

"Here you go." Billy placed the tray on Michael's lap. "The soup is a little thicker than what you had yesterday, so take it slow. Your stomach's still getting used to digesting food." The medic glanced over to the bathroom. "I'm gonna be over there, cleaning up the bathroom... Sam, give me a hand with the chair, will ya?"

Left to his own devices, Michael followed Billy's advice and started on the soup. He struggled to grip the spoon, but was grateful that neither man came over to offer to help him. Instead he was left to figure out how to do it himself. It took him a while, but finally he picked it up and managed to sup half the bowl before he dropped the spoon down and sank back into the pillows.

He had no idea how long he lay in an exhausted semi-daze, but he was suddenly aware of somebody lifting his arm and fitting a band around his bicep. Opening his eyes wide, he watched as Billy went through the usual medical checks. Blood pressure, heart rate and then the cold touch of a stethoscope over his heart, then his stomach and finally his back to listen to his lungs.

"Everything is fine," The medic announced as he removed the blood pressure cuff. "Your heart rate is staying within the normal range... And," he looked down at the soup bowl. "You're appetite seems to be improving." He picked up the bowl and turned towards the door, but then turned back and gestured to the untouched drink. "Make sure you have at least some of that milkshake. You still need all the extra vitamins and minerals."

Once they were alone, Michael let out a long sigh and carefully reached out for the milkshake. He smiled and felt a rush of relief when his hand easily closed around the glass, gripping it firmly enough that he managed in one relatively smooth movement raise it up to his mouth. Lost in the joy of being able to do something so simple, he was unaware when his hand began to tremble and it wasn't until Sam gently took the drink away from him that Michael realized he had began to spill the shake.

"I thought -" Michael stopped, deflated by the sight of the small pink pool of liquid on the tray. It was only a small spill, but …...

"Mike, it's an itty bitty bit of milkshake. That's all... You've been through a lot. Don't let it rattle ya," Sam spoke quietly.

Michael could hear the hesitation in his friend's encouragement. He knew he had been through a lot. He knew physically, he had been a lot worse... But this was different, it _felt _different.

Sam coughed nervously. "Er, so...Billy said you hadda nightmare."

Michael kept his eyes down, staring at the blob of spreading milkshake. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't have anything to say; however, the compulsion was there to seek some sort of reassurance from one of the only two people he trusted.

"It was a dream, just a bad dream." The words came out as a whisper.

"Uh huh... Yeah, I know what ya mean, brother. I've hadda a few of them in my time," Sam answered.

Another long silence and then... "When I sleep, I think... I think I'm remembering things that happened and -" His words dried up.

"But when you wake up, you know it was a dream, right?"

Michael still couldn't look up, but he nodded. "Yeah, but it -" He pursed his lips and shook his head again unable, or maybe more like unwilling, to explain the nausea inducing confusion.

_You never show weakness. You hide your injuries. You deny meaningful relationships that could used against you._ He had learnt those lessons early in the Westen household and it had been reinforced during his years in the military and working in Intelligence.

"It's okay ,Mikey, you don't wanna talk about it, it's fine... But, when you're ready, I'm here for you, buddy."

"Thanks, Sam," Michael muttered, wiping a hand over his face, a sudden shudder ran up his spine as the spectre of Frank Westen came to mind.

"_C'mere, boy! Show me your face... Whud the hell are ya belly achin' about, boy? Westens don't cry... Ya hear me? Ya wan' me to remind ya agin, ya little shit?" A heavy handed slap rocked his head to the side, bringing more tears to his eyes. "Ya need me to give ya sommit to cry about? Ya think I'm made a money, dumb ass? Ya think I have the cash to waste on feeding some damn mutt?" Another blow, this one a sharp stinging thwack as his dad had gotten his belt free in an instant. Another hit, followed by more, as he learned the harsh lesson being imparted by his sire: Westens don't feed free loading stray puppies._

"Mike, you know this is all cuz of the drugs Markov put into you?... You're gonna get through this. Me an' Fi have got your back while you fight it."

Michael's head reeled as Sam's voice chased away the memory of the beating he had taken as a seven year old boy after his dear old dad discovered he and Nate had secretly been keeping a stray puppy in the garage. He hadn't thought about that skinny little dog for years. It had been a harsh lesson and one his dad had done his utmost to make sure it stuck: _Helping the little guy is for suckers._

"I know you do, Sam," Michael finally found his voice. "It's just -" He came to a stop as he caught sight of a figure in the doorway.

"Sam, I need a word... _Now_."

Instantly, Michael was high alert, his head snapping from Sam's startled expression to the angry glare of the woman standing in the doorway.

"What –?"

"It's nothing." She obviously meant to sound reassuring, but with his heightened awareness and paranoia, Michael saw straight through her.

"Sam?" Michael reached out for his friend, even as he read the minuscule signs of agitation in the former SEAL's body language.

"It'll be fine, Mikey," Sam smiled. "I'm just going outside with Trini... What is it, just one of the kid's kittens got stuck up a tree, right, Trini?"

"Er, yeah..." She answered her expression stony and her eyes urging him to hurry up. "Stupid cat is stuck... Sam, now."

"Mike, it's nothing..." Then his friend let out a long sigh of relief. "Great, Billy's here to keep you company... Now, off to rescue the kitty..."

Michael bit down on his lip, as without another word, Sam left the room following after the woman. _They were lying to him and now Billy Clemens was standing there, looking at him with fear in his eyes._

"It's just a precaution, Mike. It will help you get some rest."

It was only then he realized Billy had injected him and, seconds later, he felt the heavy numbing effects of a sedative coursing through his veins.

"No!" he protested and tried to rise up out of the bed.

But it was too late, he was already slipping back into a dream state.

**()()**

"Sorry, we didn't want to disturb your friend, but you need hear this..." Trini walked along the hall, leading the way back into the lounge.

"What? What's happened?" Sam followed her and once in the lounge he moved towards the windows, expecting to find an attack under way.

"I hadda call from the girl who looks after our office in Miami... The place has been tossed. She says it looks like vandals. We don't keep any money - or anything of value there." Her voice was cracking as she spoke.

Sam knew exactly what she was saying. Whoever was coming after them had found them.

"Okay, it'll be fine... How far out is Jojo and Fiona?"

Trini gulped. "I know they left Cuba an hour ago. I didn't want to call him, when there's nothing he can do."

"Do you know what intel they could have got from your office... This location? Names and addresses for your crew?"

She shook her head. "The only ones who know about this place are already here... They have a phone number, for emergencies, that's all."

Sam closed his eyes for a second, a phone number was probably all these people needed. It was time to lock everything down. "Is there anywhere you can go with the kids?"

"No, no... After what happened to JJ, we hadda a safe room built here. Come on, I'll show you." She set off for the front door. "It needs a cleaning out and stocking... We only keep a few essentials in there -"

"Hey, hold on." Sam caught hold of her arm bringing her to a stop. "Slow down." He ran his tongue over his lips, all the while his mind was running through everything that needed to be done. "Call Jojo and tell him not to spare the horsepower. Then you call your doctor friend. Let her know she's gonna have visitors pretty soon and, if she can, she should get out of there on the double. I'm gonna make a sweep of the perimeter and then start the lock down."

He patted Trini's arm and gave her his best smile. "It'll be fine. We know somebody is coming. So, we've got the advantage here. Nobody's breaching this compound, not on my watch," he assured her. The ex-SEAL watched as Jojo's wife nodded her assent and hurried away.

_Now, he just had to convince himself he was right._


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Thirty Nine**

"_Sir, we've found him. We've found Westen... He's on Isla Mujeres, just off -"_

"_I know where it is. Do you have him?"_

"_Soon, sir, I've sent a scout in. I thought a single man would be less conspicuous."_

"_Let me know when you have him in custody. Our friend will want to know we can keep our side of the bargain."_

**()()**

Sam Axe stood next to Trini Delaney looking down a set of steep narrow steps, which up to a few minutes ago had been covered by a well camouflaged trapdoor hidden in the back of the family's laundry room.

"Your bolt hole is down there?" he asked doubtfully as he peered into the darkness. _It didn't look big enough to hide a child, let alone a whole family._

"There's a shaft at the bottom. It's a bit tight in places, but it leads to a safe room and a way out." She shone the beam from a flash light into the hole, illuminating the beginning of a tunnel.

"How long? How far does it go?" Sam swallowed, as he was already seeing some of the problems they were going to have getting Michael down there. _A deep dark hole with no room for a stretcher or to maneuvre._ _We're gonna have to knock him out and carry him between us._

"It's about half a mile long in total. The other end comes out in a cave on the other side of the headland. It's our emergency exit, you know? In case we ever have to get out in a hurry and Jojo uses sometimes if he wants to leave without anybody knowing. The safe room is about half way along," Trini replied.

Sam cautiously made his way down the steps. Once he reached the bottom, he looked up and guessed he was approximately twenty feet underground. Reaching out, he touched his fingertips to the roughly hewn rock above his head and to his sides. The shaft was about five and a half feet high and probably no more than three feet wide.

_It would be a squeeze just walking on his own, but trying to hang on to Michael..._

"Are there any lights down here?" he asked. _Maybe if the route was well lit it wouldn't be so bad._

"No, we have some camping lights. They're in the safe room." She paused to hand him a flash light of his own and then, crouching down, she lead the way towards the underground bunker. "C'mon, I'll show you."

Following behind, bent almost double with his arms occasionally brushing against the uneven rock walls, Sam moved his flash light in an arc to check out as much as he could. It was cold. He could feel goosebumps rising on his skin along with the hairs on his arms and there was a dampness in the air too. When he skimmed his fingers along the rock wall, it felt slick in places.

He pursed his lips as he thought of some of the difficulties they were going to have using this escape route.

_Mike was definitely going to freak out down here. We're gonna have to knock him out and wrap him up in some warm clothing before we bring him along. _

From what Sam knew about the torture his friend had endured, there was no way on earth they were going to be able to walk Michael calmly down into the tunnel or carry him if it came to that. If he fought against them, even in his weakened state, they would struggle to hang onto him while hunched over in such a narrow space.

Viktor Markov's reports on what he had subjected Michael to had been incredibly detailed and it had made Sam sick to his stomach to read them. But he had forced himself to go through every single page, determined to know what had been done to his friend, in the hope that he would be able to help the former spy fight his way back to who he had been before. _Mike's gonna think he's been handed back to that sadistic sonuvabitch.. If only they had a coupla more weeks. He was getting better, but this...this could send him all the way back._

Eventually, Trini arrived at a door. It opened easily and Sam saw that what he thought was plain simple wood was in fact hardened steel. When he saw the locks on the other side of the door and got his first glimpse of what Trini had been describing as a safe room or bolt hole, Sam realized that Jojo had built what amounted to a large spacious secure bomb shelter.

Once they got behind this door, they would be safe from any attack bar a full scale armored assault. Inside the height of the chamber rose up to just above six feet and it was at least thirty feet long and nearly as wide. The walls were lined with shelves and there were a couple of tables and maybe ten or more chairs stacked up in a corner and a row of five bunk beds lined up each with a set of bedding on the mattresses.

Trini went around the room, lighting several lanterns, enough to illuminate the room and show Sam the rest of the supplies. "There's a couple of vents to let in fresh air. You don't have to worry. They can't be seen from the surface," she informed him, before turning to the shelves which lined the walls. "We have a coupla camping stoves, a radio, and then, on the shelves over there, we have shotguns, a couple of rifles and handguns. There are also grenades, flash bangs, C4... Jojo, wanted to make sure we could survive an attack. After what happened to JJ, he wasn't taking any more chances." Trini opened the door at the other end of the room and Sam was instantly hit by a strong breeze and the sound of waves. "We can keep both doors locked or we can leave this door open and let fresh air in. The exit is through a cave and is hidden except at low tide. Otherwise it just looks like the rest of the cliff wall."

Sam rubbed a hand over his chin. The place was in many ways a godsend. Until he had a clear idea about who was coming after them and how far they were willing to go to take Michael, this would be a good place for the family to stay safe.

"Okay, as soon as it's daylight, start stocking up for an extended stay. If we have time I might try to run some electricity down here to make it more bearable for the kids. I'm gonna get Mikey down here too while Billy has him knocked out."

**()()**

Michael lay in a stupor, his eyes opening and closing lazily as he tried to keep track on what was happening around him. He had been surfacing for some time now, slowly gaining back his senses. _His so-called friends had stabbed him in the back, or rather one of them had stabbed him in the arm... They had promised him no more drugs and then, just like before, they had lied... They had incapacitated him and told him it was for his own good. _He swallowed and tried to move, but whatever he had been given was still too strong, his limbs were too heavy and his will to fight too weak.

All he could do for now was lay there and listen to the steady beeps of what sounded like a nearby heart monitor. The noise worked to lull him into a light slumber and when he next opened his eyes, the fog filling his mind had lifted a little more. Tentatively, he attempted to move one hand, his heart soaring as his fingernails dragged along the sheet. He moved the other hand, actually managing to lift his arm slightly off the bed. _This was a lot better._

He smiled. _They had slipped up. They had forgotten to use restraints._ It took all his self control to remain still and unresponsive. A few minutes later, or maybe it was a few hours, he had no way of judging time, he felt strange hands checking him over, lightly tapping the back of his hand and then his cheek.

"Hey, Mike... C'mon, man. You shoulda come around by now."

_It's Billy, Billy did this. _He recognized the voice and his heart began to race. _Billy had promised no more drugs and he had lied_. The beeps from the heart monitor grew louder and faster and Michael felt himself beginning to panic. _They had drugged him again. Had it all been a lie, one of Doctor Vincent's tricks?_

Adrenaline coursed through his body, causing his limbs to shake and his teeth to grind tightly together as his jaw clenched and he was overcome with the sudden desire to escape. A hand closed on his arm and he felt the cold touch of an antiseptic wipe being dragged over his upper arm. It was enough to drive him to action. Without warning, he erupted into violence.

The punch he threw was lazy, lacking power and coordination, but it connected with the Billy's jaw hard enough to cause the medic to fall back in surprise. Pulling off the oxygen mask covering his face, Michael struggled to sit up just as Billy reached out to subdue him. Acting on pure instinct, Michael lashed out with his legs. A lucky blow dropped Clemens to the floor in agony from the contact of a hard bony knee to a sensitive part of his anatomy.

Spotting a syringe laying on the floor, Michael hurled himself out of the bed and scrambled across to where it lay. It took him two attempts, but by the time he felt a hand grip his ankle, he had hold of a weapon and he struck out, depressing the plunger as soon as he felt the needle hit something solid.

As the grip on his ankle loosened, Michael kicked himself free and crawled across the room. _He had to get out of here. Billy had attacked him after Sam had left the room... He had to find Sam. _

Unable to stand, he scrambled away and got himself into a corner, tearing away the remaining lines that had been monitoring his health. He was hyperventilating and his vision kept fading in and out. _He needed another weapon now he had left the needle stuck in his assailant... He needed to find Sam and Fiona._

"Hey, Mike! Mike, c'mon dude, it's Billy. I'm trying to help you... How about you givin' me -"

Hearing the medic's voice, as he tried to reason with him spurred Michael into action.

"No!" he mumbled quietly at first, then his voice got louder and more defiant. "_NO! _No drugs! You promised, promised... No." He was on his feet, leaning heavily back against the wall, his hands closed into fists.

"Mike, it was just a -, oh, hell. Look, stay where you are – don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Michael couldn't hear anything except the pounding of the blood rushing through his head and his body shook and jerked as he waited for the attack which was sure to follow. The figure of Billy Clemens swam in and out of focus as Michael sensed his vision was fading.

He didn't hear Billy ordering him to stay where he was and not to do anything stupid, nor was he aware immediately that the older man had left the room. It was taking all his will and strength just to stay upright.

A few minutes later, Michael began to relax. Nobody had tried to make him submit and the room was silent, except for his own gasping breaths. So cautiously he risked taking a look at his surroundings. It was only then he realized he was alone.

As his breathing eased, he saw he was still in the room where he had last seen Sam and Fiona. Michael shivered. _He had thought Billy was his friend, but as soon as they were alone the man had attempted to drug him. He had to get out of here, find a weapon and then he could go looking for a way out._

Still leaning heavily against the wall with his legs trembling from the effort of staying upright, he focused first on his need for a weapon. Over on the table, he spotted a pair of shiny steel scissors laying in plain sight, _if he could just..._

Staggering along the wall, Michael kept his eyes fixed on his target, his hand fumbling as he closed his fingers around cold metal. _It wasn't a knife, but it was the next best thing._

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway had Michael looking around in desperation as he realized he was out of time. He knew he wasn't strong enough to fight his way past whoever was coming for him, but what he could do was go down swinging. He could try to hurt as many of them as possible.

With his decision made, he let go of the table and with a burst of energy took several wavering steps across to the furthest corner of the room and pressed his back to the wall. Facing the door, he tensed and prepared to fight as a figure rushed into the room and skidded to a sudden stop.

"Mikey? Hey, brother, what's up, buddy?" Sam's voice sounded far away and hollow.

Michael frowned and tried to focus on the blurred shape before him. It looked like Sam. He desperately wanted it to be his best friend. His hand started to drop, but as soon as the figure took a step towards him, he brought the scissors back up.

Sam stopped in his tracks and slowly raised his hands palm out, showing Michael they were empty.

"Mike, what's up? You know you just scared the crap outta Billy."

Michael shook his head in denial and shuffled his feet as his legs weakened. _It was another trap. He had fallen for it before, trying to make him believe it was all a big mistake._

"Goddammit, Billy, what did you give him?"

He flinched at the anger in Sam's voice and tensed waiting for the doctor's orderlies to move in and subdue him.

"I gave him a light sedative, I didn't want to risk setting back his recovery. It shouldn't have screwed him up like this... Mike, just let us help you."

He shook his head again, but this time found his voice. "You promised...promised no more drugs," he accused.

"Sorry, but you were getting agitated, I did it to help -" Billy tried to explain.

Michael continued to shake his head in denial. _How could he believe a word they said? It was all lies. They kept telling him lies, trying to control him._

"Let me go." He knew there was no hope of that. They had him backed into a corner and out numbered. All they had to do was wait him out.

"Michael," Sam lowered his voice and stepped a little closer. "Mikey, you gotta trust us. You're safe. We're keeping you safe." Then when Michael didn't respond Sam took a deep breath and tried a different approach.

Standing up straight, he arranged his features in a stern no-nonsense expression and called out:

"Okay, Westen. _Enough! _Stand down! Stand down, _right now,_ soldier. That's an order."

Michael stiffened and let his hand fall to his side, the authority in the familiar voice breaking through his paranoia. This time when Sam cautiously stepped forward, Michael didn't resist when the older man eased the scissors out of his hands.

"It's okay, you're fine... We're gonna get you back to bed now, buddy." Sam steadied his friend with a hand to his shoulder.

But when the older man tried to encourage him to take the few steps necessary to reach the bed Michael shook his head and pressed back against the wall.

"No more drugs," he demanded, finally lifting his head and making eye contact. "You do that again, I'll shoot you." He frowned as if suddenly realizing he was talking to the wrong man and turned his head to focus on Billy. "You stick me again an' I'll kill you... 'Kay?" He was slurring now. But he continued to stubbornly resist Sam's efforts to get him back to the bed.

Sam sighed loudly. Looking from Michael's stubborn visage to Billy, he could tell his best friend wasn't going to budge while the medic was still in the room.

"Damn straight, Mike. He won't stick you again. You hear me, Billy?" Sam kept up the brusque tone of authority as he directed his words at Clemens. "You follow orders from now on, doc. No more thinking for yourself!"

"Sure, Sam... Sorry, Mike." Billy sent Sam a puzzled look, as the former SEAL gestured for him to back out of the room.

"Okay now, Mikey? It was a misunderstanding. That's all. It won't happen again." Sam was fast reaching the end of his tether. There was still so much to do and he was beat. He let out a grateful sigh when Michael nodded wearily and quietly shuffled over to the bed.

_God only knew what they were going to do now that Michael was refusing to let them help him. What the hell were they going to do if gunfire started and how the hell were they supposed to get him down into the safe room?_

"Fiona, we need you _now,_ sister." he muttered as he took up a chair near the bed while he waited for his friend to fall asleep.

**()()**

"Sam may look like an old booze hound, but I promise you, Jojo, he knows what he's doing." Fiona had to almost run to match Jojo Delaney's long strides as he hurried along the wooden jetty which would lead them onto a deserted quayside. "Why are we here? I thought we would -"

Jojo came to an abrupt stop. Spinning round, he caught ahold of the tiny Irishwoman by cupping her shoulders. Glaring down at her, he explained why they were in the Harbor at Isla instead of at his house at the opposite end of the Island.

"This ain't jus' about family, Firecracker. I trust yer friend to look after Trini and the kids, I do," he growled out. "But I've gotta business to protect, too. I tell ya, Fi, if word gets out I'm in lock down an can't deliver on time, it won't matter how many guns you get me. Cuz I'll have lost all my contacts."

Having made his point, he dropped his hands and stalked off again muttering under his breath as he marched along the promenade until he came to a store front emblazoned with the words "Captain Jojo's Sunshine Cruises and Dive Adventures".

Even in the low dawn light, she could see somebody was up on the roof on guard duty and, when one of Jojo's men suddenly opened the door to the store with a gun in his hand, her face broke into a grin. _Sam had gotten everybody organized_.

She stayed in the back ground as Jojo poured over a map with his second in command. "I'm gonna have ta ask Seymour if I can run my deliveries outta his warehouses... The crazy loon is gonna charge me over the odds for the favor." He sent Fiona a glare. "You _know_ how much _I_ _hate_ being in debt to that psycho? You know what he's like? Las' time he did me a favor, you wanna know what he had me do? He had me go in as a middleman for him wit' a bunch of Mexican merc's workin' for the cartel."

Fiona let her eyes go wide as she listened to the gunrunner's tirade. "And how much money did you make as Seymour's middleman?" she inquired.

"Not a goddamn 'nough when I have ta deal wit that nutcase," Jojo snorted and then got back to working out his plans to stay in business.

Quietly turning round, she slipped out of the store and walked across the promenade to stand on the edge of quay. She felt bad for Jojo, but at the moment she had greater priorities.

Listening to waves gently breaking against the shoreline and the sound of seagulls mobbing around the local fishing fleet which was coming in the harbor, Fiona let her eyes stray over the boats in the marina. Looking for anything suspicious, it was scaring her more than she cared to admit how quickly they had been found.

Somewhere out there, men were coming for Michael. Whether they were coming to kill him or take him alive, it didn't matter to her. She knew they would fail because she wasn't going let them win. Crossing her arms over her chest, she chewed on her bottom lip. What they desperately needed was Michael back to his old self.

"Okay, Fi, let's get outta here an' back home."

Fiona was jerked out of her reverie when Jojo called out to her. Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to discover she had been lost in her thoughts for nearly an hour. Yawning, she crossed over to where the older man waited for her. They had both been up for twenty four hours and she wondered briefly if she looked as wrecked as he did.

"Everything sorted out now?" she asked, following him over to an open topped jeep.

"Uh-huh," he grumbled. "So, okay, Axe knows what he's doin', I'm gonna give ya that. But I've just hadda long talk wit Seymour. D'ya know what that he wants in return for letting me run my business outta one of his warehouses?"

She shook her head, trying to hide a grin as she thought about how Michael had a similar reaction to any job which meant he had to deal with the eccentric arm's dealer.

"He wants me to take him marlin fishing."

"That doesn't sound so bad," she frowned.

"Yeah? You _do_ know Seymour, right? And how he gets whenever he tries something new? The guy has never been deep sea fishing... He spoutin' some crap about when you're a bad ass, you gotta learn to relax."

She couldn't help herself. She laughed at the gunrunner. _Oh, if Michael was feeling better, he'd love to know he's not the only one Seymour had a man-crush on._

**()()**

It was half an hour later, Fiona stood with Sam shining a flash-light along the shaft which travelled for half a mile underground and was to be their bolt hole and if necessary escape route. Wearing flat shoes, Fiona could stand up inside the tunnel without banging her head on the ceiling, but she knew without asking what Sam was thinking.

"Michael will never agree to go in there," she commented as her fingertips ghosted over the cold jagged surface.

"You got that right, sister," Sam replied. He gestured into the dark hole. "Jojo's built what looks like an underground bunker. It's pretty big inside with a higher ceiling. If we can get him in there, I think he'll be okay... That's what I thought, anyway."

She caught the turn of phrase and raised an eyebrow, wondering what had happened.

"When we found out Jojo's office in Miami had been trashed. Michael freaked out and Billy made the decision to sedate him."

"And I take it things didn't go as he hoped," she commented.

"No, it did not. When Mikey came back round, he decked Billy and got his hands on a loaded syringe. Luckily it was only a vitamin shot cuz Mike stabbed Billy in the hand with it."

"I can't leave you boys alone for a minute, can I?" Fiona smirked. _If Michael was fighting back, it had to be a good sign._

"Yeah, well, you might think it's funny now, Tinkerbell, but how do you suggest we convince Mikey to walk through the scary dark tunnel? Cuz he's still a mess an' refusing to let Billy anywhere near him."

"I'll talk to him," she yawned. "You go and get a few hours sleep. I'll stay with Michael."

**()()**

Even though Fiona crept into Michael's room as quietly as she could, as soon as she crossed over the threshold, his eyes snapped open and his body tensed. He stared back at her through blood shot eyes, a light sheen of sweat covered his pale skin and his fingers which were gripping the edge of the mattress as if his life depended on it, trembled.

"Michael..." She forced a smile, trying to mask her concern.

"F-Fi?" he stuttered, his eyes filling with tears as he attempted to climb out of the bed.

When he sat up and his pyjama top fell open, she was shocked to her core when she realized she could see the beat of his pulse in his neck. Instantly, she rushed towards to him, gently encouraging him back into bed one hand tenderly brushing over his forehead, feeling the heat emanating from his body.

"Mi -" She got no further, as he whimpered and snaked his arms around her pulling her into a tight embrace, while he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

She held him close, shhhing him while she stroked her fingers through his hair, over his neck and sides. His body felt hot to the touch as he shuddered against her. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm here. What happened, Michael?"

He lifted his head and stared at her, his eyes flickering as he studied every inch of her making sure she was really there.

"Michael, you're scaring me. Sam said -"

Her words were cut short by his lips crashing against hers in a deep kiss filled with need and desperation. Yielding to him, she eased herself onto the the bed beside him, never letting go as he continued to cling to her. When he finally broke the kiss, he lowered his head and snuggled tightly against her, his mouth and nose nuzzling against her neck.

She waited patiently for him to calm down, feeling the shudders running through his body. "Michael, talk to me. Tell me what's happened. Sam said you was upset."

He didn't answer. The only way she knew he had heard her and understood was the way he buried his head deeper against her.

"I heard you punched Billy's lights out," she spoke lightly, hoping to draw him out. "And stuck him with a needle... You know what that means, don't you?" she asked managing to ease his head out of her neck so she could see his face.

She could see how tired he was. It was obvious he was forcing himself to stand awake. Too scared to rest in case he was medicated again.

_Markov got off too easy, _she thought as she combed her fingers through his hair.

"It means you're getting better," Fiona told him as she laid a soft kiss to his forehead, pushing thoughts of deceased Russian interrogators away. "And stronger." Another gossamer kiss this time to his cheek. "But you need to get some sleep." Peppering his face with butterfly kisses, she assured him, "I'm here now and, if anybody tries to stick you with a needle again, _I'll_ kick their ass."

"Promise..."

She paused, not sure if she heard him speak.

Staring back at her, he brought his hand up. The movement was clumsy, but he managed to stroke a finger along her cheek. She watched as he swallowed and then ran his tongue over his lips.

"Promise," he spoke again, pleading for her help.

"I promise. I'll kick the ass of the first person who comes near ya without an invitation... How does that sound?" She smiled and kissed the tip of his nose.

His eyes closed and then opened, only to close again. Finally, she felt him relax against her, the tremors stopping now that he was no longer fighting his own body. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she wiped a hand over her eyes.

_He's getting better, and stronger... This isn't a set back. This is him fighting back..._

**()()**

_The first ferry of the day pulled into the Isla terminal at eight o clock in the morning. Amongst all the day trippers and people on their way to work on the Island, nobody paid any attention to the tall slender man dressed in white linen pants, a blue open neck shirt and carrying a large, bulky camera bag._


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Forty **

The first ferry of the day pulled into the Isla terminal at eight o'clock in the morning. Amongst all the day trippers and people on their way to work on the Island, nobody paid any attention to the tall slender man dressed in white linen pants, a blue open neck shirt and carrying a large, bulky camera bag.

The man weaved his way through the crowds and eventually left them behind when he turned off the main promenade and up on to one of the many side streets. As he walked confidently along the narrow pavement, his head tilted upwards so he could read the shop signs above the doors.

On spotting the sign for the Zedillo Clinic, he paused to read the note pinned to the shuttered main doors apologizing for the clinic being closed for the next two days and directing any urgent cases to attend the naval hospital less than a mile away.

Continuing on his way, the man turned the corner and paused by a set of open double gates which marked the rear entrance to the Clinic. After taking a quick look up and down the street, he walked through the gates to the same door that Sam had gone through a few days earlier. Kneeling beside the door, he set his camera bag down on the ground and unzipped the main compartment. Bringing out a Glock 22 handgun, the man slipped it into his waistband and then unzipped a small case holding a set of slender lock picking tools.

With the door unlocked, he calmly put his tools away and picked up the bag before sliding through the door and quickly crossing to where the alarm should have been flashing a request for a code to be punched into the keypad. However, the alarm had been switched off and, ahead of the shadowy figure, he heard faint noises which told him he wasn't alone.

**()()**

"Michael, it's time to wake up." The soft melodious tone in Fiona's voice as she whispered in his ear, coaxing him out of his dreams and tickling his neck, slowly began to lift Michael Westen out of the comfortable dream state he had been hiding in.

The gentle touch of her fingers, combing through his hair and then running tenderly down his back, caused a sigh to slip from between his lips. He didn't want to wake up; here wrapped in Fiona Glenanne's arms, he was safe and at peace.

"Michael, we need you to get up now... It's time."

He arched his back and shifted, pressing back against the hand which continued to stroke over his back and along his exposed side.

"Soon," he mumbled out a promise he had no intention of honoring while he could still burrow deeper into the warmth under the covers. This was where he belonged. While he stayed locked in his dream, nothing would change.

"_Now._" The tender touch turned a bit more forceful and the light stroking turned to a familiar hard stinging slap between his shoulder blades. "I'm not gonna let ya sleep the day away."

The playful demand got his attention and he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as the dimly lit room came into focus. Moving slowly, he maneuvred so he was laying on his back. With his head pressed into the soft pillow, he stared up at the ceiling, becoming entranced by the swirling patterns of dust particles dancing in the air.

"_You can't stay here all day."_

"I'm up," he murmured and turned his head to the side, a smile of welcome on his lips which quickly died. "Fi?"

Frowning, he reached out, patting at the mattress. It felt cold.

_Had he been wrong?_ Not sure whether to believe his eyes or his other senses, he called out again. "Fi!... Fiona?"

_She had gone?_ He was alone in the bed. Sitting up, he looked around frantically, searching for a sign that he hadn't dreamt her presence.

"FIONA!" He raised his voice as adrenaline began to course through his veins. _He had been positive she'd been there. He had fallen asleep in her arms; he remembered it clearly. She had promised to stay...he hadn't made it up...he hadn't._

He grabbed at the pillow, holding it up to his face and breathing in her scent. Instantly, he felt better. One of the many layers of tension fell away, he could smell her presence, which meant it was all real. She _had_ been there laying beside him. She had to be close by, she couldn't have gone far.

Twisting around, he sat up on the edge of the bed and wiped a hand over his face, swiping at the moisture building in his eyes. He looked down at his arms, searching for signs of recent injection sites and couldn't see any new marks. He hadn't imagined it. His mind _wasn't_ playing tricks on him. She was there somewhere, he just had to find her. Then, with a sudden push, he got to his feet.

"_You've been hiding your medication, Michael. Medication which you need to get better. Don't you want to get better?"_

"No." He shook his head, denying the voice of Doctor Vincent whispering in his ear. Fiona _was_ nearby. He knew it in his heart.

But the ghost of his tormentor wasn't going to give up easily. _"You attacked your doctor again. You know we can't allow that type of behavior to go unpunished."_

Michael gulped as he scanned the room, a sliver of fear buried deep inside him urged him to consider the possibility that the doctor wasn't truly gone, but was lurking in the shadows. _Could this be one of the interrogator's sick games? _

_No! _His hands curled into fists as he fought back. Doctor Vincent couldn't be hiding nearby because he was _DEAD_. Sam had told him how Fiona had beaten the crap out of interrogator and then afterwards he was blown up by the people he worked for. _He was never coming back!_

"You're not here. You're dead," he muttered out loud, shaking his head again trying to clear away the cloud of doubt filling his mind.

He was at the doorway now, his hands gripping the door frame. When he had tried to escape before, he had lived to regret it. His whole body shook as more repressed memories began to creep out of the dark parts of his consciousness.

"_You attacked your doctor, Michael. You stopped cooperating. Your friends hate you, you're all alone now."_

No, they promised him. Sam and Fiona were close. They wouldn't leave him. He just had to step through the door and find them. Sick with dread, but determined to be proven right, Michael took a deep breath, pushed through the barrier of fear and doubt and stepped out into the hallway.

_You're wrong. I'm not alone and I'm not listening to you. They're here somewhere and you're not, you're dead._

"I think you're crazy if you think this is going to work." An unseen feminine voice captured his attention

Michael paused, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Fi?" She was close by. He just had to _keep going_.

"Well, what do you suggest, lady? Cuz I gotta tell ya, this is the best I can come up with."

That was Sam, Sam and Fiona were together. Michael smiled and pushed on. He was right and, as he grew more confident, the voice of Viktor Markov's other persona Doctor Vincent faded away.

"I can't think of everything, Sam," Fiona continued to complain. "I should get back to Michael. You're just going to have to come - Michael? What are you doing here?"

He stared into her eyes, unable to speak as he was overwhelmed with relief. He had been right, she was there. He'd just had to go looking for her. He took a step towards her and almost fell. But it didn't matter because her arm went around his waist, steadying him, while Sam appeared on the other side, slipping his shoulder under Michael's arm to help him across to a high backed, leather covered office chair.

"You were gone." Michael finally found his voice. "You - I woke up and I -"

"Shhh..." Fiona knelt in front of him. "You found me, we're all safe." She glanced up at Sam. "We were just working on something, that's all."

"Yeah, brother," Sam added, his voice full of false cheerfulness again. "I needed Tinkerbell's opinion on a little side project I'm working on."

He glanced out of utility room and then stared at Michael, a wide genuine smile on his face. "Hey, you must be feeling a lot better. That's quite a walk you've been on, buddy."

"Yes..." Fiona's face lit up as she worked out just how far Michael must have traveled.

"I wanted to find you. I thought..." He let his head flop back against the head rest as a wave of tiredness washed over him.

"Sam?" Fiona questioned worriedly.

"It's good." Sam inclined his head towards the hallway Michael had negotiated. "Look how far he came, all on his own."

"I can hear you, you know," Michael spoke up, though his eyes remained closed and his body lax, but he wasn't going to let them talk about him as if he wasn't there. "What are you working on?"

When no reply was forthcoming, Michael forced his eyes open and did his best to focus on his friends. "I heard you talking all the way from my room," he commented.

His friends exchanged glances and then Fiona spoke up. "You explain to him, while I go and find him a blueberry yogurt." She patted his leg, running her hand over his thigh. "After you eat, you'll have to get dressed." Placing a light kiss in his cheek, she stood up and, with a final look, she walked out of the utility room.

"Sam?"

"Okay, Mikey, we've gotta take a little trip. Do you remember me telling you about the guys who paid Markov to ask you some questions? Well, we think there's a possibility they might have found us... You okay there, brother?"

Michael shivered and felt a cold sweat break out over his skin.

"I'm fine," he answered, sliding his hands off the chair's armrests in the hope of hiding the way his hands were shaking.

"Jojo's office back in Miami has been tossed. Nothing was stolen, which means whoever it was, they were looking for intel. So we think it's best to try an' keep one step ahead of anybody coming after us. Jojo and Fi have laid a false trail. She made sure she was seen around Santiago, begging for a ride to anywhere in South America. But we don't want to leave anything to chance, so we're gonna hide out for a few days in Jojo's panic room in case anybody calls round here."

"Panic room," Michael echoed, feeling that said same emotion starting to rise at the thought of having to squeeze into the appropriately small space that aptly named room implied.

"No worries, Mikey," Sam assured him. "It's more like a bunker the size of Greenbrier." He'd work on telling his buddy exactly how he was getting him there in a minute.

"Greenbrier?" Michael couldn't imagine how the gun runner and smuggler could have excavated anything as big as that cold war bunker built into the hills of West Virginia.

"Well, it's slightly smaller than that, but not by much," Sam grinned.

"Okay boys, it's time for Michael's breakfast." Fiona stepped into the room. Speaking brightly, she took the attention away from Sam, who was greatly relieved for the distraction. "Sam, why don't you go let Jojo know we'll be ready to move soon."

"Sam?" Michael wanted to know more about this spacious panic room. His nerves were already stretched to breaking point and the sight of his best friend not leaving by the door, but rather disappearing down what looked suspiciously like a hole in the floor at the very back of the utility room, threatened to cause him to snap.

Michael's head whipped around. "What's going on, Fi?"

She moved until she blocked his view of where Sam had gone and then smiled down at him suggestively while peeling off the lid from the cup of yogurt.

"Jojo has three blueberry flavored cups left in his fridge. If you're a good boy, I'll make sure they all find their way downstairs." She handed him the yogurt and a spoon, before moving backwards so she could lean against the edge of a large freezer chest. "Eat up, you need to build up your strength."

"Fi, this panic room, where –?"

"Ah huh, no questions. Not until you've eaten up and we've got you dressed."

"I'm not a child," he protested

"I know that." Her wicked grin almost enough to take his mind off his troubles. "But you _need_ to eat if you want to keep getting better."

**()()**

The man in the blue shirt, walked silently through the swinging doors leading from the store room into the reception area. Four rows of plastic chairs filled the center of the clinic's waiting room. To one side of the main doors stood a long counter, behind which was a small office space and, on two other walls, were rows of cubicles with curtains, which could be closed for privacy. At the far end was a half open door and the faint sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. With a broad smile and a glint in his eye, the man stepped forward with his gun leading the way.

He kicked the door open and went through fast, the woman standing in front of a computer screen spun around, her dark eyes wide with terror.

"Hello there." The man stopped in his tracks, the gun still held out but his arm was relaxed. As soon as he got his first good look at Dr Pilar Zedillo, he knew she was no threat to him. "I wonder if you could help me out? I'm looking for a patient of yours... He's calling himself Michael Finley."

Pilar froze on the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the gun pointing straight at her heart.

"Doctor - Zedillo, um habla English?" the man queried.

She thought briefly about lying to him. But as if he could read her mind, he thrust the gun out a little further and cocked back the hammer. "You don't want to lie to me, lady."

"Michael's gone... His brother took him -" Now she'd had a chance to recover from the shock of an armed man entering her office, the doctor remembered what she had been told by Chuck Finley. She knew all she had to do was keep saying as far as she was aware, Michael was in Cuba, looking for a ride to South America.

"Brother? What did this brother look like?"

She knew what she had to say to this question, too. _Stick to the truth on everything, all except that we're heading south. _"An older man. They left here, left Isla -" she blurted out her answer.

He cut her off with a huff of impatience. "I see I'm going to have to do this the hard way." He stepped forward with his gun raised.

"Really, kid? You _were_ doing good, right up to wanting to beat your only source of information unconscious."

The man spun around. There was a soft popping noise and he dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Pilar stared, her eyes wide with fear, as this new stranger walked calmly all the way into the room. He smiled warmly at her as he leaned down to examine his handiwork.

"Will _you_ look at _that...?_ One shot, dead center _and_ he was moving at the time." He beamed with pride his eyes sparkling with delight. "_I_ just keep getting better."

"W-who are you?" Pilar tried to edge further a way, her eyes fixed on the door as she wondered how fast she could run. "What do you want?"

"I'm a friend. I heard about Michael's little problem and I'm here to help."

**()()**

"So, are you ready to see where we'll be staying for the next couple of days?" Fiona finished buttoning Michael's shirt for him and smoothed her hand down his chest.

"Yeah," he answered softly. His mouth was feeling dry as butterflies gathered in his stomach.

After he had finished eating the yogurt, she had insisted they returned to his room so he could get washed and dressed. He had given her a suspicious look when she laid out jeans and a long sleeved shirt instead of shorts and a T-shirt. But he had kept his questions to himself. The former spy had already seen the entrance to the panic room and knew it involved going underground, which scared him more than he was willing to let on. In the back of his mind he knew that however big the room was, it wasn't going to be big enough.

"Michael?" He felt her hand on his cheek, drawing his head round so he was looking straight at her. "It's going to be fine."

He swallowed and nodded but couldn't bring himself to speak. He could already feel the walls closing in around him, trapping him in darkness, unable to move... _so cold he had lost the feeling in his limbs and his chest hurt so much he had thought_ …...

"Hey, hey, snap out of it!" Fiona's soft touch on his cheek turned into a couple of sharp slaps, jerking him out of the rising pool of terror he was wading in. "We're here with you, this is going to be easy... You'll see."

She didn't give him any more time to worry about where he was going, drawing his arm over her shoulder, she slipped her own around his waist and half dragged half supported him on his walk back to the utility room.

He stared down the narrow stone staircase. This was so much worse than he had suspected. He could already feel the walls closing in around him and his legs began to crumble. When he hit the floor, he took Fiona down with him. His eyes were filling with tears and his breath came out in short sharp breaths.

"I can't do this."

_He was in total darkness. The air was cold and moist and the stench almost unbearable. His hands were covered in some sort of slimy material which coated his fingers and slipped into all the little cuts and grazes covering his body. _

_Panic began to set in as he remembered clawing at the walls, his fingers digging into the mud as he desperately tried to climb out. He was sharing his prison with the rats and all the bugs that were feeding on the rubbish which surrounded him._

_In the end, exhaustion set in and he fell back amongst all the stinking debris covering the floor of his prison, his arms wrapped tightly around his body. Sweating and shaking, a raging fever took hold of his body and weakened his mind until he couldn't fight any more. _

"I can't..." he gasped, gagging and trying to spit out the foul odour which invaded his senses. _He couldn't go down there...he couldn't willing go back into the pit..._

"Yes, you can." Fiona was nose to nose with him, a determined look on her face. "You're not doing this alone. Now, come on." She tried to pull him back on to his feet, but he resisted. "Damn it ,Michael, get up now... _We need you_."

His head jerked up. _They needed him? _

"We need you, Michael." She repeated and then hauled on his arm. "Now, get up off your ass."

Back on his feet, he warily took another look into the hole, startling as Sam appeared suddenly. "Hey, Mikey, we're nearly ready for you down here. How are you holding up, buddy?"

_His body had curled into the fetal position, his limbs were useless, too heavy and too numb to move. He was going to die, lying in rotten food waste, eaten alive by the creatures sharing his prison. His mind was beginning to shut down as he gave up the fight to survive. Sometime later, a noise disturbed him, cracks and bangs, followed by shouting in Chechen and then, after a few minutes of silence, another voice speaking English with a brash American accent. _

_"Hey you! C'mon, kid, grab the rope. We'll get you out."_

"I – I'm fine, Sam." Michael finally found his voice. Sam had pulled him out of the forest prison in Chechyna... _Chechyna..._ He blinked and pushed that particular memory far away. _I wasn't there. I wasn't there. I wasn't there._

"Michael! Stop it! You have to come with me - with us _now._...We can't do this without you, you have to help us! Come on, one step at a time."

Fiona was tugging on his arm, drawing him closer to the edge of that first step down.

"It's okay, brother. You can do this." Sam was in front of him now, taking hold of his other arm, not giving him a choice any more. He could only walk or fall, as they both urged him to descend the stairs.

By the time he reached the bottom, his heart was racing so fast he couldn't separate the beats, sweat rolled down his back and all he wanted to do was crawl away. They pushed him down into the same chair he had been sitting on earlier when he had first walked into the utility room.

"Mike, Mikey, look at me... All you've gotta do is sit there and let us do the work, easy peasy. You got that? Just stay in the chair, understand?"

When his friend remained silent, Sam switched tactics. "I'm talking to you, Westen!"

The authoritative tone of Commander Axe barked out, capturing Michael's attention and he managed to nod. "Answer me when I'm talking to ya! I wanna hear you say it, grunt. Do...You... Understand?"

Michael gasped, not realizing until then he had been holding his breath. "I understand. I understand."

"Good man, now shut your eyes and enjoy the ride."

As Sam moved around the back of the chair and gripped the seat back, he was joined by Jojo and slowly both men began to pull the armchair into the tunnel.

At the first jerk on his temporary berth, Michael gasped and gripped the armrests, his eyes screwed up tight against the harsh makeshift lighting in the cramped tunnel.

Even though the chair was on wheels, they weren't designed to work on an uneven surface, making Michael's journey far from smooth. When his arm brushed against the cold damp rock wall, his eyes flew open.

"Michael, you're doin' great. Just look at me." Fiona reached out and took his hand in hers, walking as close as she could to the chair.

The chair rocked again and Michael squirmed, trying to twist around to see where they were taking him. _Sam had lied. This wasn't a bunker; it wasn't even a panic room. _

"Stop, I can't, I can't do this... Let me out."

"Mike, buddy, I need you to sit still... or are you just trying to punish me for that time you had to drag my sorry butt six miles through a Kuwaiti sandstorm?"

"No, Sam," Fiona joined in the conversation, somehow managing to keep her tone light while having the life squeezed out of her hand that was caught in Michael's terrified grip. "It's payback for all the times you've whined about having to sit in the back seat in the Charger."

She leaned in closer, and put her mouth to Michael's ear.

"Relax back, me darlin' man. I wan' ya ta t'ink back ta Dublin in '98, in tha back o' thot truck carrying us through tha security gates inta tha Murphy's demolition supplies... D'ya remember how thot journey went, Michael McBride? Close yar eyes an' t'ink abou' Dublin on a cold April night. The truck shook and rocked on the country lanes an' it wa' cold like it tis now an' the wind blew in through tha gaps..."

She let her voice fade away as Michael relaxed back, his grip on her hand loosening slightly.

Sam and Jojo both gave her a grin, wondering about what had happened all those years ago which would have such an effect on the man sitting quietly in the chair now.

Michael fought to keep the picture of that early mission working with Fiona Glenanne in his mind. The job came about as a way for him to prove his worth to the Real IRA.

The terrorist group had wanted explosives. The guns they had bought just over a month earlier had proven unreliable, half of them breaking the first time they were fired and the arms dealer who had supplied them disappearing, presumably fled to sell more useless weapons to other unsuspecting parties.

Murphy's Mining and Demolitions just outside Dublin kept a large stock of dynamite, C4 and T4 in a high security warehouse. Armed guards, state of the art alarm systems and a hot line through to the Garda meant the place was considered impregnable.

They had gone in much the same way as he had done during a job with his fiancée at the time, Samantha Keyes, and, as he remembered it, they had spent the journey to the warehouse with him doing much the same things to Fiona that Samantha had done to him two years earlier.

Michael opened his eyes and the first thing that struck him was the pain etched into Fiona's features. It was then he realized how tightly he was holding on to her and he instantly let go. "Sorry, sorry, I -I didn't mean it."

"It's alright, Michael. You've held onto me tighter than that before." She winced as she tried to rub life back into her hand.

"How much further?" he asked, his voice beginning to tremble as he caught a glimpse of the tunnel behind Fiona. They were so far into the shaft that he could no longer see the entrance and the panic and terror began to build again.

"Not far now, Mikey," Sam spoke up in between puffs, as the toll of dragging his friend along nearly a quarter of a mile was beginning to tell on him.

"_Not long now, soldier. Keep calm... We're nearly there to you... How's Wilson doing? Can you reach him?" _

_He could hear them now, the scraping sound as they dragged or dug out the rocks that had filled the tunnel. He had lost track of time, his mouth filled with dust and the weight of whatever it was on his chest pining him down. He had no idea about Wilson. The older recruit had stopped sobbing and wheezing some time ago._

"_I'm fine, sir. Please hurry, I can't hear Wilson no more."_

"I'm fine, Sam, I'm fine. Jus' hurry." He willed himself to remain calm. He had no choice, so he just had to stay still. _He could do it._

He wrapped his arms around his torso, refusing to hurt Fiona any more and, with his eyes tightly closed again, he rocked back and forth, determined that he would do nothing to hold them up.

"You're doing good, Michael. Not long now." He could feel Fiona's warm breath on his cheek and the brush of her lips on his brow. "Oh, I can see the door - you can open your eyes, we're here. You've done it, Michael!"

The chair stopped moving and Michael opened his eyes slowly, his breath caught in his throat as he took in the large rectangular shaped room. The fear was still there, he knew he was underground and that disturbed him and the plain light colored walls were a stark reminder of the hospital, but it wasn't overwhelming...yet.

"Michael..." Fiona gave his arm a gentle tug, coaxing him to focus in the present. "Come on, Billy thinks it's a good idea if you take a proper look around before you get some rest."

Michael sighed and glanced around the room again. He didn't want to get out of the chair. If he was honest, he didn't want to be there at all.

"Fi, I don't think -"

"Michael, I want to show you Jojo's gun collection."

Michael's heart stuttered and nearly came to a stop. She knew exactly the right thing to say.

"There's a whole lotta weapons down here that are gonna need cleaning... I thought we could do that for him, you know, to repay him to putting up with Sam stealing his best scotch."

_It had been so long since he had been allowed anywhere near a gun. _Michael's mind was a whirl. He struggled to stand, nearly falling in his effort to show her he was capable of doing what she asked.

From the time his mother had thrust a rifle in his hands at the age of thirteen during the McDuffy riots, he had appreciated the sense of empowerment which came along with a firearm. His father had wisely replaced the gun cabinet he broken into at his mother's bequest with a heavy duty gun safe, no doubt prolonging the man's life.

Since he'd left home for the Army at seventeen years old, he had been handling weapons every day of his life and, up until that moment. Michael hadn't realized how much he missed the comforting feel of a chequered grip in the palm of his hand or the sensation which came from holding the weight of a gun.

"Do you think you're ready to help me with that? I mean, there's not much else to do." She took hold of his hands, offering her support while he tried to regain his balance.

"Yes, I – I'm pretty sure I can do that." He smiled, ignoring the feeling of light-headedness. For the first time in what felt like ages, he was happy.

Staring up into his eyes, Fiona grinned back at him, freeing one hand she let her fingertips ghost over his lips.

"You're getting better..." She reached up and placed a chaste kiss on his lower lip. "Ya keep this up, an' I'll let ya help make tha bomb I'm gonna place under the bastids who did this to ya."

And, for a brief shining second, the mention of his captors provoked anticipation and not fear.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Forty One**

Doctor Pilar Zedillo took several deep breaths as the madman in her office finished tying her hands tightly behind her back. As he worked, he talked in a calm, cheery voice, totally disregarding the body lying on the floor inches from where she sat.

"_So_, why don't you save yourself a lot of pain and tell me where you've hidden away all of Michael's information." He asked in a pleasant tone.

"I don't have any information, as you put it... I took some blood as routine because he appeared - run down and told Mr. Finley to call back in a few days. He called. I hadn't got the results back and he said not to worry, because they were leaving."

Much to Pilar's relief, he sat down facing her and unscrewed the silencer from his gun before sliding the gun into the waist of his pants and dropping the silencer into a pocket on his jacket. But then he pulled out a butterfly knife from another pocket, his fingers working rapidly as he flicked the blade in and out of the dual handle.

"Now, that isn't _exactly_ true, is it?" He chided while barring his teeth in a toothy smile. "You see, I had an _interesting_ conversation with a man in Miami a few days ago and before he – went for a long swim, he was kind enough to tell me what had been done to the Kid."

"He was very sick, but he –_Ahhhhh_!" She gasped as the tip of the knife suddenly pricked the skin under her chin. She hadn't even seen him move, but he was there now, the knife digging into her skin and his minty breath in her face.

"You _really_ don't want to lie to me, doc." The sunny smile was gone replaced by a slight down turn of his lips, but it was his eyes which held Pilar's attention. Icy cold blue eyes orbs which hinted at the man's true nature. "Now, and you better believe me when I say you have run out of chances, _where…can… I… find… Michael Westen_?" The blade moved from under her chin to just below her right eye.

"I have a phone number for Mr. Finley." Pilar gasped.

She remembered how Charles Finley had killed one of the gang bangers who had come into her clinic and injured the other. She had never seen shooting like that before. Surely he would know what to do about this crazy individual who claimed to be a friend of his brother.

"That's great." The lunatic beamed. "But I have to ask, if you were hiding that little piece of information, what else haven't you told me? Yet…"

**()()**

"Fiona?" Sam walked into the subterranean panic room carrying one of the boxes of documents which held all the clues to who had kidnapped and tortured Michael. "Why's Mikey back in the chair?" He nodded to where his friend was sleeping slumped in the office chair they had used to transport him through the tunnel which led from the light, airy house above.

The tiny Irishwoman joined him at the table across the other side of the room from where Michael slept. "He didn't want to lie down. Something about it being too closed in, he couldn't breathe. I didn't want to argue with him or set off another panic attack. So I let him stay in the chair," she replied in a matter of fact tone.

Sam glanced at the row of bunk beds. Michael's fear of enclosed spaces was going to become a real problem if he couldn't even cope with sleeping in a bottom bunk. He sucked on his bottom lip and turned his attention to where Billy Clemens was laying out the remains of the medical supplies.

Michael needed more rest than a nap in a chair was going provide. If they couldn't get him to lay down and rest properly, the only option left was to take a risk and sedate him again.

"How about pulling them mattresses off the bunks and making a bed for him on the floor? It might be a good way to remind him of the loft. How is he, apart from the bed thing?"

"He's behaving himself, if that's what you mean. We're going to clean some of Jojo's guns after lunch."

"Yeah…" Sam looked uncomfortable. "About that, Jojo has some _concerns_ about letting Mikey handle weapons."

"Has he now?" she countered dangerously, her inner mama bear coming to the surface.

"He has a point Fi, Mike's not exactly the poster boy for stability right now and his motor control is a bit dicey. Do you really think giving him a gun, even just to clean it, is the way to go?"

"Michael needs to have something to do. It'll be good therapy for him and besides, I'm not stupid, Sam, I'm not going to hand him a loaded weapon and I'll be watching him the whole time."

Sam looked guilty and nodded. Maybe she was right. Gun maintenance was probably the best form of physiotherapy for Michael, along with the mattresses piled up on the floor to make a bed. It would be a good reminder of what his life was like before Viktor Markov got his claws into him.

"Just don't let him overdo it, huh? I've gotta couple more boxes to bring down and then I'm gonna be up top helping out our host get ready for moving his family. He's sending them over to the mainland as soon as it's dark. You need anything?"

She shook her head and turned back to watching Michael sleep. "He's getting better, isn't he?" she asked, her voice cracking as she spoke of her fears.

"Yeah, yeah, he's getting better. He's getting stronger all the time," Sam answered. Even to his own ears, his words sounded hollow and false.

Fiona nodded, but her eyes never strayed from the sleeping figure slumped in the chair. "Getting a gun back in his hand will help. We have to get things back to normal for him as quickly as possible and it'll all come back to him, right?"

"Yeah, right on, sister." Sam straightened up. They were both skirting around the real the issue. Neither one wanted to admit that they were both scared the weeks of torture their friend had endured before they found him might be something he couldn't come all the way back from.

"Look, I'm gonna go give that lady doc another call. She promised to call out here this morning before taking off for a few days."

"You do that. I'll get his bed made up for him. Tell Jojo I'll make sure Michael doesn't shoot anyone."

**()()**

Michael's nostrils twitched and he stirred, moving restlessly. Then when his head slipped off the side of the high back of the chair, he woke up with a start, gasping in surprise. Instantly he looked about the room, confusion showing on his face as he failed to make sense of his surroundings.

_Where was he?_

"Hey. Sleepy head..."

At the sound of Fiona's voice, his head snapped round, his eyes instantly focusing on her smile.

"Hey," he replied softly.

Yawning and stretching, he visibly relaxed. It didn't matter where he was, because she was there with him and the familiar sight of Fiona Glenanne sitting at a table with a stripped down handgun in front of her was the most comforting sight he had seen in a long time. That and the faint smell of gun oil which was filling the air stirred memories of stormy nights sitting at the work bench in his loft, drinking and cleaning their favorite toys.

"How are you feeling?" She carefully put down the barrel she had been putting the finishing touches to and got to her feet.

"Like I fell asleep in a chair," he groaned, stretching again.

"Well, you go and freshen up. The bathroom is over there." She pointed to a narrow door alongside the wider steel door which led back to the house above them. "And I'll get you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," he answered, but he was distracted by the low ceiling which suddenly seemed to be pushing down on him. His eyes scanned the white smooth surface looking for signs of an imminent cave in.

"_If_ you don't eat, you _won't_ have the strength to help me with the guns." She was at his side, drawing his attention away from his surroundings.

With a tired smile, he allowed her to pull him on to his feet, but he was unable to stop himself ducking, as if he was going to bang his head. He was sure the ceiling dropped an inch or two as he rose up.

"It's fine, Michael, it's not even that low." Her words and the light touch of her hand stroking up and down his arm soothed him. "Go on, now, let me find you something to eat." She gave him a little shove to get him moving and then watched anxiously as he shuffled unsteadily across the room.

He pushed open the door and peered inside. The bathroom was small, too small in his opinion, and not even a bathroom really as there was only a toilet and a small sink inside, and barely the room for both of those items.

Sucking in a deep breath, he stepped inside and pushed the door to. His hands were already shaking and he could feel the walls closing in on him. He quickly did everything he needed to and then rushed back out into the larger, slightly less claustrophobic space of the main room. Reaching the table, he sat down heavily on one of the hard wooden chairs and took several deep breaths, promising himself to only enter that space when he absolutely had to.

"Here you are." Fiona was at his side in an instant, determined not give him a chance to give in to his fears. She pushed an open cup of yogurt and a teaspoon into his still trembling hands. Resolved to force his mind to focus on something other than the fact he was underground, she commanded, "Eat up while I finish up what I'm working on."

He watched as Fiona put the gun she had just finished cleaning back together and then turned her gaze to the line of weapons waiting for her attention. The delicious cup of blueberry yogurt was forgotten as he watched her expression while gliding one slender hand over the guns before her trying to choose which one she would take apart next.

Her hand settled over a Glock 19. Lifting the weapon, she removed the clip and put it to one side and then checked the chamber was clear before pointing the barrel away from them and, after sending Michael a quick grin, pulled the trigger.

"Eat up, Michael, don't make me tell you again... No toys until ya finish yar lunch."

Eating slowly, he watched as she dismantled the gun laying each piece out on a large strip of towelling cloth before picking up a couple of small squares of gauze which she covered in a liquid solvent.

He knew the routine almost as well as any of the Glenanne siblings. He had first seen the ritual in Sean's house as the Irishman had sat down next to his wife and showed her how to care for his stock of personal weaponry. Then a few weeks later, when he was spending most of his nights in Fiona's Dublin flat, he had watched one evening as she had laid out her own gun cleaning equipment in exactly the same manner as her brother. When he had asked about it, she had smiled.

"_We all had tha same teacher."_

"_Yar da?" He nodded. It was a simple explanation. Patrick Glenanne by all accounts had been a nurturing patriarch, as well as a fervent supporter of the Republican cause._

"_Our mammy, she always looked after tha armoury. She cleaned tham after use, thot's if they warn't fer destroying an' on every Wednesday, whether they'd been used or nae. We all use ta get in fram school an' find tha dinner table laid out wit' all we'd need."_

"See, I knew this was a good idea," Fiona beamed.

And all of a sudden, Michael realized he had lost himself, his mind entranced by the way her slender fingers gracefully handled the weapon as she put all the pieces back together.

"Good?" he questioned.

She leaned over the table and took the now empty yogurt cup and spoon from his hand. "You were so busy staring at Jojo's gun collection, you ate without having to think about it." Moving away, she threw the cup into the waste bin in the kitchen area and the spoon into the sink before returning to his side with a couple of sheets of paper towels.

"Ya just missed a couple of little bits... here." She wiped a few spots of pale purple off his shirt from where the yogurt had dripped off his spoon.

"Now, it's your turn Michael," she announced, making a small nodding gesture.

He sat upright and stared at the handgun Fiona had placed down before him. He knew it was another Glock-19, 9mm semi-automatic handgun. As well as the gun she carefully laid out everything he needed to clean it. Squares of cotton gauze, swabs, a gun brush, barrel brush, solvent and gun oil. It was all done as a mirror of her own cleaning station on the opposite side of the table.

Reaching out with his right hand, he curled his palm around the handle and lifted the weapon up. It felt heavy. Frowning, he concentrated hard to make his hands and fingers work in the way he wanted them to as he checked the weapon over, turning it this way and that and noticing Fiona had already removed the clip.

Gripping the slide with his left hand, he attempted to draw it back to confirm there was no bullet left in the chamber. But his arms were too weak and his fingers too clumsy.

"It's okay," Fiona spoke softly. Placing her hand over the top, she helped him clear the weapon even though she had already removed all the bullets.

"You shouldn't - I should be able to do this myself," he muttered, fiddling with the clips which would allow him to remove the upper slide assembly from the gun. Eventually he managed it himself, but then he handed the weapon back to her without even attempting to remove the recoil spring.

Fiona finished dismantling the weapon and gave the lower part back to him. "Here." She handed him a cloth dipped in solvent. "You clean that part, I'll do the rest."

She could see he was disheartened and stopped what she was doing. Catching hold of his chin, she turned his head so he faced her.

"Two weeks ago, your heart stopped - more than once. You were going through the worst detox I've ever seen. A week ago, you barely knew your own name. You were throwing up everything we gave you. Four days ago, you couldn't get outta bed without somebody supporting you. Now you're feeding yourself and walking unaided. This is just one more thing you've got to work on."

"My heart stopped?" He couldn't remember if they had told him this before. His long term memory seemed to be returning quicker than the short term.

"Twice, both times Sam helped Billy to get it going again. He didn't give up on you. I've been at your side almost constantly. We've _both_ done our bit, now _you've_ got to do your part. You've gotta fight through this."

He was humbled. With his head bowed, he glanced up and gave her a small smile. "Okay, I get it. I'll try to stop feeling sorry for myself."

"Good, now start cleaning. You do as much as you can. If it takes you longer than usual, so be it... It's not like we've got anywhere to go. Me mammy used ta be able ta field strip a AR15 in seconds... It now takes har twice as long, but it dinnae stop her fram doin' har work."

"Are you comparing me to your mother?" He raised an eyebrow.

"God, I hope not," she laughed. "Say d'ya remember the first night I caught ya watchin' me?"

He smiled back and then ran his tongue over his lips. "Aye, lass... I remember."

_The dark smoky Dublin pub down near the docks and a pretty girl bet a big bad man that she could put together a gun and fire it faster than he could. And when she had won, the big bad man had tried to renege on the bet. He learned much later on he was watching Ms. Fiona Glenanne prove her worth to a Real IRA recruitment officer._

By the time he was ready to start on the second handgun, his coordination was already improving as repeating the familiar task brought some of the old suppleness back to his stiff unresponsive digits.

But after two hours of gun cleaning and idle chatter, Michael was worn out and struggling to stay awake. When he failed three times to insert the cleaning brush into the barrel of the gun, Fiona reached over and removed the articles from his hands.

"Let's call it a day for now. You need to get some sleep before dinner. Billy wants you to start eating at the table with the rest of us, now you can manage more than a meal supplement."

"I'll sleep here." He said sitting back in the chair and letting his eyes close

"Michael, you need to lie down. You can't sleep in a chair all the time."

"I can't -" He gulped, the memory of what had happened earlier still fresh in his mind.

The raw panic, which had engulfed him before he had even lain flat on the lower bunk, shook him now. There was no way on earth he was going to put himself through that again. He would continue to sleep in the chair if necessary until they returned to the surface.

"Michael, Michael look."

He glanced over to the row of bunk beds and noticed for the first time the pile of mattresses making up a double bed in the corner of the room.

He wanted to lie down, he knew it was safe. But there was something that was deep inside him, which stopped him from accepting that he could rest. The more he looked at the bed, the more he could feel his anxiety levels rising.

"I'll be fine here," he muttered stubbornly, his hands curling into fists in an effort to stop them from shaking.

"You _can't_ stay in the chair, Michael. I made that bed up especially for you, a reminder of home. The least you could do is try it out."

"Fiona, please just leave it…" He ground the words out. His heart beat was racing wildly now and he was grateful that they had removed all the monitors or the medic, Billy, would have probably been attempting to stick him with a needle in an effort to calm him down.

She knew he was beginning to lose his temper. She could see it in the way his top lip had nearly disappeared and his jaw clenched. But there was no way she was going to let him put back his healing.

"No, I won't let you do this to yourself. How about if I lie down with you? We'll take a nap together."

He glanced up at her and sighed wearily. "You'll stay with me?"

"I promise." Sensing she had won, she quickly coaxed him up on to his feet and across the room to where she'd arranged the mattresses.

He tried to quell the urge to resist. When she kicked off her shoes and gently pulled him down next to her, he closed his eyes and he willed himself to relax. But his willing it didn't mean his muscles would obey. Moaning in frustration, he wrapped his arms tightly about her waist and curled his body up against hers, burying his face in her hair.

"Try to relax, Michael. I'm here with you."

He flinched as her fingers began to stroke the back of his hands and then, as he continued to struggle with his fears, she began to hum a soft melody. It had been quite a few years since he had heard it, but it brought back pleasant memories of cold damp weather and snuggling up tightly with the woman he loved in front of a three bar electric fire.

"Whot's thot tune called ag'in?" he mumbled into her ear.

"Have ya forgotten, Michael? Tis tha Ballyeamon cradle song. Me mammy used ta sing it ta me and Claire."

He sniffed and, though it was scarcely possible, held her even closer. He had no memory of his mother ever singing to him... No memories of ever receiving _comfort_ at home.

"Can ya sing it ta me?"

"Oh, I don' sing, ya know thot, Michael." She reached behind her to stroke her fingers through his hair. "Go to sleep now."

When she got no answer, she began to hum the tune again until she felt his arms become heavy and the sounds of his breathing slowed and deepened.

**()()**

Sam had spent several hours working with Jojo, helping the gunrunner move his supplies around, and making sure the few men he had on guard duty were staying alert and paying full attention as they patrolled the walls which surrounded the property.

Inside the house, Trini was busy organizing the children and then, once she had them occupied, she set about arranging her home for a siege. At first, Sam had been amazed at the skilled way everybody went about their assigned tasks. It was like watching a well drilled platoon at work.

But then, as he caught sight of Jojo's eldest boy feeding shells into a magazine for one of four short barreled shotguns, he was reminded of the territorial war the whole Delaney family had been dragged into when a rival had kidnapped the teenage boy.

"Are those AA-12s?" the former Seal asked, walking over to pick up one the very illegal weapons.

"Yes sir, Atchisson assault shotguns. My pa likes 'em for close combat."

Sam placed the weapon back down and smiled at the youth. "A good choice, son."

He left the youth to his task and made his way back to what until a few hours ago had been Michael's bedroom. Inside, he found Billy Clemens packing Michael's clothes back into bags.

"Has that lady doc called yet? She said she was gonna call in and check on Mikey before she and her husband took off for a week."

"Not hadda word from her, Sam. She might just be trying to clear all her appointments before coming out here," Billy replied. "I'm gonna take this lot downstairs and check on Mike. You know moving him down there hasn't helped his recovery?"

Sam sighed and moved over to where the last box of files and the laptop Jojo had lent him waited to be taken to the panic room. "Yeah, well, better his recovery's slowed down some than him ending up back in the hands of those monsters who did this to him in the first place, ya think? You can leave the clothes, I'll take them down. I want you to go through Jojo's first aid equipment and see if they're short of anything. If the doc hasn't called in another hour, I'll call her and get her to bring out anything you think we need."

Once he was alone in the room, Sam peered into the final box, his fingers itching to pull out one of the documents. He was sure there was important information contained in those pages which would set him on the path to finding out who had paid Markov to torture and interrogate Michael. He just had to find it.

"Sam? Sorry to disturb ya, but Pilar's on the phone. She wants to speak to you. She says it's important," Trini said as she stuck her head around the door.

Leaving the box, Sam hurried to take the phone from Trini's hand, wondering what this new piece of bad news was going to be. _Hadn't they had enough of that lately? Just for once he'd like to get a call telling him everything was just as right as rain and he could get back to lying out in the sun, watching a parade of scantily clad girls pass by._

Putting a smile on his face, hoping it would help hide his fear, he held the handset up to his ear. "Chuck here, Doctor Zedillo, we were beginning to get -"

"Sam Axe, I thought it would be you," came a familiar voice that set Sam's teeth on edge and a cold sinking feeling straight to his heart. "Put Michael on the phone."

"Larry," Sam answered coldly, trying to keep _his_ voice calm. "What are you doing on the Doctor's phone?"

"What do you think I'm doing, Axe? Now get Michael and don't make me ask again."

Sam swallowed wondering just how much Pilar Zedillo had told the psychotic killer who was holding her captive. "Michael isn't here," he finally answered, hoping that the doctor had done as he had asked.

"You really expect me to believe that?" Larry mocked. "The nursemaid gets left behind? Oh no, I don't think so."

"Well, what can I say, Lare?" Sam growled back. "You missed him. So, why don't you move on along or go climb back into whatever hole you've crawled out of?"

"And maybe you ought to ask Michael if he wants to know who's coming after him. You see, I had a _really_ interesting job offer to locate a burned spy and return him to some very angry men who had lost their pet science project."

Sam cursed under his breath. This was all they needed. Looking skyward, he silently counted to ten, as Larry continued to speak into his ear.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Sam. _I'm_ with Michael on this. You can ask the nice doctor. I've already taken out the first of the bloodhounds coming your way." There was a gasp and then Pilar Zedillo came back onto the line, her voice ragged with fear.

"Mr. Finley, this man he – he killed another man - he - he-" Another gasp of pain followed. But before Sam could speak, Larry was back.

"There you go. You see? You're one amateur hit man down already, thanks to yours truly." Sam could imagine the grin on Larry's face as the assassin gloated.

"What can I say Larry, thanks? But it doesn't change anything. Mike isn't here. He left with Fi. I'm just hanging out for a few days before heading back to Miami."

The line went quiet for a minute and when Larry came back on, all the false good humor had been stripped away. "I happen to _know_ Michael was grabbed off the streets and fed experimental drugs before being tortured by an expert. _If _the Kid is capable of walking, he's still in no condition to runaway to Cuba and onto South America. So, quit lying to me, Axe, and _tell_ Michael I want to speak to him in the next two hours. If he refuses to take my call, Isla Mujere's is going to be short two doctors and a clinic."

The line went dead. Sam sat back and stared at the phone in his hand.

_"Cuba… She's gone to Cuba, Sam…"_

He remembered Michael gasping out the words and what had followed.

_"I know, Mikey, but she's gonna be back soon and she's gonna be pissed as all hell if she comes back and finds you all banged up."_

_"No, no, you don't… you don't get it…Dead Larry's there… Larry's in Cuba... It's an extraction."_

He hadn't wanted to believe that his friend had kept in touch with this former mentor. But, with what had just happened, he was beginning to wonder was just all a coincidence?

One thing was for sure, things had just gotten a lot more dangerous.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Forty Two**

Hunched over and grim faced, Sam Axe made his way as quickly as he could through the long narrow tunnel which led to Jojo Delaney's underground panic room. He hated himself for what he was about to do. But he could see only one way out of the situation facing them and that meant he was going to have to risk hurting his best friend and risk getting his lights punched out by the flame haired Irishwoman guarding the injured spy.

"_Quit lying to me, Axe, and tell Michael I want to speak to him in the next two hours. If he refuses to take my call, Isla Mujere is gonna be short two doctors and a clinic."_

Senior Field Officer Larry Sizemore, Michael's legally declared dead former CIA partner, mentor and father figure, was back. As far as Sam Axe was concerned, the twisted, blood thirsty bastard couldn't have picked a worse time to venture out of his crypt.

The man, and Sam used that term very loosely indeed, was like Dracula. Every time you thought you'd gotten rid of him for good, he would rise up again. It had only been a few months earlier that he had shown himself in Miami on a recruiting drive to get his previous partner to join him in his murder-for-hire business.

"_You see, I had a really interesting job offer to locate a burned spy and return him to some very angry men who had lost their pet science project... Oh, don't worry about it, Sam. I'm with Michael on this. You can ask the nice doctor. I've already taken out the first of the bloodhounds coming your way."_

As much as it pained Sam to admit it, there was no doubting that the undead spy would kill to protect his former protégé, but that didn't mean he could be trusted. Because one thing had been made clear on their last meeting, Larry wanted his apprentice back at his side and would do whatever it took to get what he wanted. The whole father-son dynamic the two spies shared had led to Michael becoming known throughout the intelligence world as "Larry's Kid." The pair had been both famous for their ability to take on the most dangerous and dirty missions and infamous for the way they frequently got the required results.

From his own previous experience with the psychotic spy, Sam was sure that Larry wouldn't think twice about killing them all in his effort to gain control over Michael, especially at the moment when the younger man was so vulnerable to manipulation. If there was one thing Larry Sizemore was very, very good at, it was getting people to see only what he wanted he them to see. Even Lieutenant Sam Axe had fallen for the senior agent's particular line of bull the first time they had to work together.

_He had first met CIA Agent Larry Sizemore in Bolivia way back in '89. He had been given the simple task of locating the daughter of an American mining executive who had been kidnapped by one of the many revolutionary groups hiding out in the depths of the rain forest. Sizemore had already been in the area on behalf of the CIA, gathering intelligence on the various groups so that the analysts back in Langley could make an informed decision if any of the bandits or militia leaders were worth cultivating. So it had been agreed between the different branches of the services that the SEAL would work with the spy to gain the freedom of the young woman whose father had friends in high places._

_The former SEAL was big enough to admit now that on that first meeting he got sucked in by the older operative's confidence and charm. The guy had a natural ability to blend with the environment he was in. He got people to open up to him and seemed to know exactly what he needed to say or do to get his target on his side._

_Sam, as his team's premier ladies' man, was used to using his roguish charm and disarming smiles to get the girls during shore leave. But Larry was in a whole other league. He had watched as the senior spy went about the district visiting his contacts, asking a few questions here, offering a bribe there or a little intimidation where needed. He seemed to know exactly what method to use to get the best results with each person he came across._

_With Agent Sizemore's knowledge of the area and the various factions running the district, the girl had been located within a day. They'd discovered she was being held deep in the jungle by a small group of anti-government fighters. On a foray out to the camp, they had managed to find a position amongst the trees where they could keep watch and remain unseen while they had learned the lay out of the camp and the guards' routine._

_The good news was the young woman was unharmed, but obviously very scared. The bad news was she was being kept tied up, out in the open right in the middle of the camp, making it impossible to reach her without being seen._

"_I'm gonna call in a team. This is too risky for the two of us. They can fly in, drop down and use the element of surprise to get the girl and get out fast, easy peasy. I spotted some women and children in the camp. The threat of a Black Hawk and a full team of SEALs should be enough to keep things nice 'n' peaceable."_

"_You order a military gunship to fly over and you'll stir up the whole region. How about I talk to a guy I know... He has some influence with this group. I might be able to work something out which will keep US military activity in a foreign country to a minimum."_

_And that was where the SEAL had fallen for the spy's toothy smile and false sincerity… hook, line and sinker._

_As they'd hidden out of sight, monitoring the meeting between Larry's guy and the leader of the kidnappers, Sam had begun to feel uneasy, as the older man exuding nervous energy had drawn his handgun and then had looked him in the eye. _

"_You might want to get ready for a bit of action," had been the operative's advice, as down in the camp things were beginning to unravel._

_The talking had stopped. Larry's guy had drawn what looked like a bright shiny new TEC 9 and had shot the chief kidnapper in the head, just as more men had flooded the camp armed with assault rifles._

_As soon as the fighting began in earnest, the spy had jumped to his feet and, with a crazy grin on his face, had led the way into the camp to rescue the girl. _

"_Doesn't it make you feel alive?" Sizemore had shouted over the noise of gun fire, as he'd calmly shot one of the combatants in the chest. "Nothin' like a fire fight to make you appreciate breathing," the man had concluded while casually tossing a grenade into the area where most of the kidnappers had taken cover._

_Ten minutes later, they had been on their way out of the jungle in an open top Jeep. _

"_What the hell was that?" the SEAL had shouted, his eyes flickering from the road ahead and then to checking behind them._

"_Hey, everything worked out. Stop your whining. You really are a wet rag, Axe. We got the girl and now Miguel back there will take control of this whole district and because we helped to set up his biggest rival and gave him the extra fire power he needed, our new amigo's agreed to leave our mineral survey teams alone. It's what's known as a win-win for us."_

It was true that, in the eyes of the CIA and even his own commanders, the mission had been a success. But for Sam, twelve dead from both sides of the conflict and then another six men later executed by the victors, it had left him feeling dirty and with a life-long dislike of Agent Larry Sizemore.

Reaching the steel reinforced door, Sam paused to look at his watch. He had an hour and forty minutes before Larry's deadline. Closing his hand around the handle, the ex-SEAL pushed the door open and stepped into the panic room.

Inside he was greeted by the sight of Fiona sitting up in the makeshift bed, her back against the wall and holding a book in one hand, while the other was lazily combing through the dark hair of the soundly sleeping spy whose head rested upon her lap.

"We need to talk," he mouthed the words silently, not wanting to disturb his sleeping friend. Then when she frowned back at him, he added. "It's urgent."

Mr Axe watched as, after sending him an angry glare, the auburn haired woman carefully eased herself out from under her slumbering partner and placed a pillow under his head.

"This better be important," she hissed as she shoved the older man away from the sleeping spy to the other side of the room. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to convince him he needed to rest?"

"_Larry_ is here on the island. He is holding the Zedillos hostage _annnd_ if he doesn't get to speak to Mike in the next..." He looked at his watch again. "Hour and thirty five minutes, he is going to blow them and their clinic up."

"Larry? _Undead Larry_, the spy? I thought - We can't let that bastard anywhere near him." She glanced over to where she had left the injured man who meant so much to her, watching as he began to move restlessly in his sleep, as if he was picking up on their agitation.

"Hey, slow down, lady. Larry only said he wants to _speak_ to Mike – on the phone. He says he knows all about what's happened to Mikey and that he's already killed an assassin who was on his way to drag Mike back to the creeps who paid Markov."

"Well, Michael can't talk to him. He's sick... We'll have to go after him ourselves, take the battle to him. If we use some of Jojo's crew, we could..."

"Ah-huh…" Sam shook his head. "That's a sure-fired way to get everybody killed. Larry's too damn clever; he'd see us coming."

"We know where he's hiding out. There's bound to be a lot of chemicals, gases… _oxygen_ _cylinders_ stored there... We take Billy along. You keep Larry talking. Explain that Michael can't talk on the phone, but you've come in person. A sort of goodwill gesture and while you're doing that, we'll sneak in the back and -."

"You're _not_ blowing up the clinic, sister!" he interrupted as the former Irish terrorist was warming to her subject.

"Not blow up, but we could release the right type of gas or chemical mix, something that would knock everybody out. Billy would know what to use."

"No, it's too risky."

"Well, you come up with something," she huffed, folding her arms over her chest and scowling at him.

"You gotta understand, Fi. Larry is Mike on his best day but without a single scrap of humanity. He's been a spy for over three decades, doing the nastiest jobs in the worst places on the planet. You _can't_ sneak up on him and you _can't_ trick him. He gets one whiff of a trap and he'll start shootin'. The guy is like the plague."

The tiny Irishwoman thought about what she was being told, her mind already made up on what was going to happen one way or another to this new threat to Michael's well-being.

"So we need to work out a way to get him out into the open and _then_ we kill him."

If she expected the older man to disagree she was in for a shock, as Sam looked her in the eye and declared, "You're right... But before we kill him, first we need to catch him and find out what he knows."

"It's about time you started seeing things my way. I like this new proactive attitude, Sam." She smiled sweetly for the first time since the former SEAL had entered the room. "So, how do we get the weasel to stick his head out of his hole?"

Sam knew as soon as Michael's little psycho girlfriend discovered what he wanted to do, she was going to blow up big time. So instead he gestured with a nod to where his friend was now laying on his back spread eagle and thankfully still asleep.

"How's he doin? Any better?"

"He's getting stronger, but this claustrophobia - I don't know how long we can keep him down here."

"But what about…?" Sam tapped the side of his head. "You know, is his head getting any clearer?"

Her blue green eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What aren't you telling me?"

The former Navy commander sighed. He knew the moment of truth had come and unwillingly broke the bad news. "Regardless of what you want, Mikey's gonna _have_ to talk to Larry or the docs are dead and Isla will have a new crater in the middle of the town."

"_NO!_ Michael can barely hold a conversation and, even if he _was_ capable, I'd still say we shouldn't let him anywhere near that sick sonuvabitch. We're going to deal with this all by ourselves."

"We've only gotta a little over an hour, Fi," Sam tried to explain calmly. "And even as messed up as he is, Michael knows Larry better than anybody else."

"Not now he doesn't," Fiona countered, her voice getting louder as in her distress she forgot about the reason for their hushed conversation. "He needs to stay here where it's safe. He's getting better, he needs rest and -"

"Fi? Fiona!" The sound of Michael calling out to her stopped her angry words and had the auburn haired woman crossing the room swiftly to where her lover was struggling to untangle his limbs from the duvet.

"Hey Mikey, how are ya, brother?" Sam put a cheery smile on his face and followed Fiona across the room.

"What's happened?" The dark haired spy was sitting up now, his bare feet on the floor and his eyes nervously flickering around the room as he searched for the reason for the raised voices.

"Nothing's happened. Sam was just telling me how things are going upstairs."

Michael blinked, his expression plainly showing he didn't believe her and then he turned to stare at his best friend. "Sam?"

The older man looked from his best friend, to the fiery Irishwoman, who glared back at him. Taking a deep breath, he let it out in a sigh. "I was telling Fi there's some trouble at the clinic. A little mix up… We might have to go over there and straighten it out."

"And I didn't want to leave you here alone," she added quickly.

"What trouble?" Michael slowly got to his feet, swaying slightly as he attempted to gain his balance.

"Nothing for you to worry about," Fiona spoke swiftly, not giving the older man a chance to answer. "It shouldn't take more than an hour. Sam was about to go and ask Jojo or Trini if they could keep you company for a while... Weren't you, Sam?"

"Sure," came the cold flat reply from the former SEAL. "I'll go fill our host in on the situation. Er, Fi… this er situation is, um… time sensitive." He tapped the face of his watch. "I'll be back in _shortly."_

**()()**

Michael walked slowly over to the table and sunk down onto one of the wooden chairs.

"What's going on, Fiona?"

He knew they were lying to him again. But now that his head was clearer and the spectre of Dr. Vincent had been consigned to a securely locked box in a deep dark corner of his memory, he was willing to trust that they were doing it in a misguided attempt to protect him.

"We told you," she answered, her voice sounding just a little too bright and cheery to be completely truthful.

"Don't play games… please? Just tell me what's really going on. Why were you fighting with Sam?"

She walked back over to his side, placing one of the protein drinks in front of him before taking the chair at his side. Sighing softly, her hand settled gently on his thigh. "I always fight with Sam. It's the only thing that makes being near him tolerable," she quipped and then pushed the glass of high calorie milkshake towards him. "Drink up."

"Fi, if something has happened…. I'm not stupid. You've got me living in this -" He gestured with a wide sweep of his hand. "This place and now you want to leave me here and go off with Sam?" He paused to take several deep breaths in an effort to control his rising levels of anxiety.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" She smiled at him and he smiled back.

He managed to hold that smile on his lips while her own blue-green orbs stared back at him as she made her decision. "Drink your drink and then get washed up. By then, Sam should be back and we'll tell you everything."

The smile faded and turned into a pout. "I'm not a child."

"I know that. But if you'll remember, I've been down here with you. Sam's the one with all the answers. So you'll have to wait for him to come back."

This was a delaying tactic, but he didn't want to fight. "When Sam comes back, you promise?"

"Promise," she answered, her fingers gently squeezing his thigh.

Satisfied that she would keep her word, Michael raised the glass of thick peach flavored protein shake to his lips and sipped at the overly sweet liquid.

She looked tired, scared and it was obvious from the unkept appearance of her long auburn hair and the way her clothes looked to be hanging off her tiny frame that she was so busy making sure he ate and rested, she was forgetting to look after herself.

Placing the now half empty glass back on the table, Michael turned in his chair until he faced the woman who had been a rock for him to cling onto during his worse hours. Raising a trembling hand, he brushed her tangled hair away from her face and gently cupped her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he murmured softly. "I didn't - I tried -"

"Shhh, none of this is your fault." She covered his mouth with her hand, halting his words. "You have nothing to apologize for." Her hand slipped from his lips to his shoulder and she leaned in until their foreheads touched.

The touch of her skin against his, the sensation of her soft breath against his cheek was all too much for his overwrought soul. His hand slipped from her cheek to cradle the back of her neck.

"I'm sorry," He mumbled again, unable to stop the flood of emotion. "I'm sorry, I -"

Words were not enough, so instead he kissed her. One small peck to the side of her mouth turned to two and then three until his lips locked against hers in a deep tender kiss.

His heart stuttered and then soared when, instead of pulling away, she surrendered to him, parting her lips and welcoming his touch as their tongues swirled and danced against each other.

He had no idea how long they clung to each other. But when they finally drew apart, he was gasping for breath and light headed. A shiver ran up his spine as her fingers lightly glided over his cheeks, her thumbs wiping away the moisture building in the corners of his eyes.

"See, you're getting better... Now finish your drink." Her lips twitched and she ruffled his dark hair. "Or do I have ta kick yar arse, Michael Westen?"

"No ma'am," he replied with a grin.

In truth, he was already beginning to feel the insidious creeping sensation of fatigue in his bones, but he had no intention of succumbing to the dull cloak of weariness until he knew what was happening. Sipping down the rest of the shake, he looked across to where he had been ordered to go next.

The thought of entering the tiny cramped bathroom filled him with a cold dread. Just staring at the narrow doorway across the other side of the room brought back memories of every time he had been trapped with no way to escape: _A cave in during his time at Ranger school, eighteen years old and trapped with a dying comrade; captured and thrown into a pit, knee deep in garbage in the Chechen mountains, never expecting to see daylight again; near death, trapped under the collapsed structure of an blasted oil refinery in Russia; an explosion in a Belfast nightclub, where smoke and flames seemed to be everywhere as he kicked at the burning debris that had trapped his foot._

"Michael…?"

He flinched at the sound of his name and the light touch to his shoulder.

"This is just another test. Just think how far you've come." She placed a light butterfly soft kiss to the sweet spot behind his ear. "Now, on yar feet or ar' ya goin' ta wait fer Sam ta come down har an' hold yar hand, McBride?"

**()()**

_It had to be something to do with breathing in too much gun oil that made gunrunners so quick to reach for the nearest weapon whenever they faced a bump in the road._

At least that was Sam Axe's opinion, as he made his way back through the tunnel, this time with Fiona's gun smuggling buddy hot on his heels. Mr Delaney hadn't taken the news of a bloodthirsty psychopath with a soft spot for Michael Westen holding the Zedillos hostage in their clinic very well. Nor had he seemed impressed with Commander Axe's solution to the problem. Sam could still feel the mark left from the barrel of one of Jojo's AA12 shotguns being thrust into his stomach as he finished explaining on how he wanted to free the Zedillos and neutralize Larry.

"And how about we just hit the place with everything I've got in my storeroom? He's one man, he'll be out numbered."

"It'll take too long to explain. You're just going to have to take my word for it that going in hard will get everybody killed. My way should keep the casualties to a minimum. We have to let him think he's won and wait for him to let his guard down. Believe me, Sizemore is one conceited sonuvabitch. Once he thinks he's got one over on us, he'll be easier to take down."

"Or we go with my plan and don't give him a chance to see us coming. I have a sniper rifle fitted with thermal imaging and Fiona is a great shot..."

"Thermal imaging will only tell you where the warm bodies are and if she misses...Look, Larry's been doing this sorta thing for three quarters of his life. Trust me, fella, there's not a thing we can do he won't see coming. Besides, won't mounting an armed assault on the town clinic bring the police and army running?"

It had taken a lot of fast talking, but eventually the sea captain had reluctantly agreed to go along with the ex-SEAL's plan. But all the time he had spent getting Jojo onboard now meant that he had a little over twenty minutes left to make Michael understand his part in the scheme. If the injured spy couldn't get Larry Sizemore to leave the safety of his fortress, they would be stuck with no recourse but a full-scale assault, which was almost certain to fail.

**()()**

Michael frowned and squinted at the small printed words on the page in front of him. It wasn't that he had trouble reading the actual words. It was more that by the time he had gotten to the bottom of a page, his mind had already forgotten the details which had appeared at the top and, the harder he tried to focus, the harder it became to hold on to what he had read.

"I can't do this," he announced bitterly, tossing aside the book Fiona had given him to occupy himself while waiting for Sam to return.

"What's wrong?" Fiona asked, closing the week old Mexican newspaper she had been reading.

"I- just can't -" He waved a hand in dismissal. Tiredness, a fatigue which made even his bones hurt, and a mind which felt like it was stuffed full of cotton wool all had left him feeling useless. _What use was he to those around him? How long would they all hang around once they realized he was unable to even hold on to the most basic facts?_

The petite woman picked up the well-worn novel she had chosen for him, a tale of corrupt politicians, clever spies and beautiful women, which she thought might interest him. She got to her feet and returned it to the book shelf and then went back to the table with her second choice of activity.

"How about we try playing cards? You choose the game?"

She was trying too hard again. The too bright, sunny tone in her voice wasn't masking her concerns, it was highlighting that she was trying to distract him from his shortcomings.

"I just want to know what's going on." _What he really wanted was for all the pain and confusion to go away. He wanted his old life back, the one where _he_ was the one who held all the answers._

"Soon," she glanced at her watch and bit down on her bottom lip. "Very soon."

"Not soon enough." _He knew he was being a pain in the ass, but his years of training and life experience told him he was in danger and weakness and ignorance would get him killed._

Luckily before Fiona, whose own patience was running out with a sulking spy, had to answer, the door opened and Sam entered the room with a scowling Jojo directly behind him carrying a phone and a long coil of wire.

"Hey Mikey, Fi… You feeling more awake now, buddy?"

"I'm fine, Sam. I just want to know what's going on." He carefully watched Fiona's friend, wondering why the gunrunner had a phone with him.

"So everything is fine?"

Michael jerked his gaze away from Jojo to study his two friends. He had caught the edge in the older man's innocent sounding question to the taut faced Irishwoman.

"Yes."

The single affirmative came out as a hiss and Michael's paranoia skipped up another level. _He had been right to be concerned._

"Can we get this show on the road?" Jojo added his own tension filled voice to the conversation.

"Okay, there's no easy to say this. I'm sorry, Mikey... Larry is in town and he is threatening to kill some friends of Jojo's unless you talk to him."

"You said Larry wasn't here. You said Larry was in Buffalo..." Michael fought against the dizziness and nausea which was threatening to engulf him.

"Mike, hey Mikey, take it easy. Larry just wants to talk, brother, that's all. You do that and he'll have to keep his word to let the hostages go. He'll let them go and once he does, me, Fi and Jojo will take care of the bastard."

"I'm getting my family out as soon as it's dark," Jojo added. "There's room for you on the boat. A short trip over to the mainland and then a stay in a hotel in Cancun until things quieten down."

The spy shook his head, stubbornly refusing to run and hide. "No, I'm staying here. What does he… what does Larry want?"

"_I want to offer you a job... Meet Jeannie Anderson, she's my next dead-ee." The voice of his once dead mentor chuckled. "Slippery slopes can be fun, Kid."_

_He had watched Larry through a sniper scope, watched him kill an unarmed man and then... "You had the shot, I woulda taken the shot," came the accusation._

"_When being a softy comes back to bite you in the ass, I will be here to say I told you so."_

"Michael? Michael, it's okay..." The soft tone turned harsh. "I _told you_ this was a bad idea!"

The sound of Fiona's voice first filled with concern and then with scathing accusation pulled him back from toppling into the myriad of mixed up memories which had instantly filled his mind at the mention of his former partner.

"It doesn't matter what he wants. Whatever it is, we're gonna make sure he doesn't get it." Sam cut straight to the point and then placed the phone in front of the younger man. "Mikey you have to do this. There are lives at stake. All you've gotta do is say hi and then make sure that if he wants a meeting, he's gotta come to you."

Michael looked at the phone. He knew what he had to do. To do anything else would seal the fate of the hostages. But there was a tiny part of him that thought it was a mistake. His old mentor wasn't really a threat to him personally. He was pretty sure that, just like he had been unable to shoot the man who he considered to be nearer a father than Frank Westen ever was, Larry would hesitate to kill a man he thought of as a son. But that relationship wouldn't protect his friends and it would definitely put Jojo Delaney and his family directly onto the firing line.

_Memories of all the unsanctioned kills, all the times the interrogations ended because they had gotten what they wanted and because the subjects of their grilling had nothing more to say…ever… Larry's pained but joyful laughter at the realization that the Kid finally got it. _

_Snapping necks and slitting throats, shooting without a thought, how good it had felt to let the white hot anger out, to let it have rein, blowing up a factory full of people because he didn't care anymore as long as he finished the mission, being the one causing the explosion instead of being the one trapped by it. He could finally get away from Larry. They'd promised him…_

Then the image of a family from long ago filled his mind_. _

_The smell of blood, flames licking up into the air after the explosion which destroyed the evidence. a father, a mother, two children, a grandmother and the families of the servants. Larry asking his questions and shooting the man's family one at a time when he didn't like the answers. He hadn't killed anyone in that house, he hadn't been in the room when the shots were fired, he hadn't... He wasn't responsible... He wasn't there... It never happened..._

Michael blinked away the memories of that awful night, his hands shaking and sweat beads broking out on his brow. He raised his eyes to look at his oldest and best friend.

"There has to be another way…" the younger man pleaded.

"There's not," Sam answered steadily, his finger pressing down on the keys to put the call through. "Remember, you're willing to have a face to face - but he has to come to you."

With Sam at one side and Fiona at the other, both ready to offer the spy all the support he needed, they waited for the undead assassin to pick up.

**()()**

**A/N: **The first time Sam met Larry was in Bolivia '89 you can read this tale in **Life With Larry, **co-authored with my good friend **Jedi Skysinger, **under the name** Jedi's Pal **


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: **Don't forget to check out** Life With Larry **a series of stories covering the life and times of our favorite bad guy, Larry Sizemore written with my good friend and BETA the wonderful **Jedi Skysinger **under the name of** Jedi's Pal.  
><strong>

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Forty Three**

_Larry's POV_

"I gotta say it, Doc. You impressed me... I honestly thought you'd just roll over on Sam Axe. I mean, what do you know or care about him really? The guy is an over the hill boy scout. He's always been nothing more than a useless wet rag. I tell ya, SEALs, they're only good for carrying the hardware and kicking down doors, you know that sorta stuff. If one of them had an original thought I swear their head would explode."

The former CIA operative kept up the one way conversation as he finished cleaning Juan Zedillo's blood off his favorite butterfly knife. He could have used any of the surgical implements in the clinic to help with his interrogation of the two doctors, but Larry was sentimental. It wasn't something he liked to admit to, but _damn it!_ that old butterfly knife had been with him for so many years that it was almost a part of him.

Folding the now clean blade back into the split handle, Larry turned to his two – two prisoners? Hostages? Unwilling guests? Kidnap –kidnap-ees. Yes that was it, kidnapees. He smiled happily.

"Let's get you cleaned up and then wait for the Kid's call."

Juan Zedillo had had a very bad day. But that was what you got for not paying attention. It was the man's own fault really. Because as it turned out, good old _Chuck Finley_, forever the Boy Scout, had warned both doctors to get out of town. However, instead of doing what he had been told, the idiot had let his wife come to work, in the very place that was going to attract every second rate hit man and bounty hunter who could read a blood screening report.

Smiling at the thought of how busy he was going to be dealing with his business rivals, though calling them rivals was being a tad generous, as few of those coming would be up to his high standards. Most of those making their way to Isla Mujeres would be no better at the job than the one now lying in the clinic's morgue and would be easily dispatched. Not that any of that mattered, as once he had Michael at his side again, they would be an unstoppable force.

Ignoring the muffled groan from the doctor as he slapped a thick gauze pad over the man's bloody leg and quickly wrapped a bandage around his bound and gagged prisoner's thigh, Larry let his mind drift over what he saw as the beginning of an exceptionally promising future.

The phone call he was waiting for was really just a way for him to gauge the Kid's health. When he had received the email offering him a large payment to hunt down a man, he had been on the verge of just pressing the delete key, as he had more job offers than he could handle. But then as he had rather disinterestedly read through the details, he had felt an inferno of red hot rage roar through his whole frame. But the fiery anger had almost instantly been put out when all of a sudden he had spotted the opportunity he was being offered. Oh, the people who tortured Michael Westen would pay for what they had done; however, but it would be Michael doling out the justice with his good pal and savior Larry Sizemore right there to lend a helping hand.

_Watching that factory blow up in the foothills of Julian Alps on the outskirts of a small town called Vedona had been a beautiful thing. The Kid had surpassed all his expectations that cold winter day. That was the man he wanted back working at his side and this time he was going to cut through, literally if necessary, all obstacles standing in his way._

"I've answered your questions. You promised to let us go if I told you everything," Pilar Zedillo sobbed, her voice cracked and broken from her ordeal.

Larry pursed his lips. _Why were the bright ones always so gullible? She was a doctor, a professional. Did she honestly believe every piece of bull she was told?_ He took another gauze pad and bandage and quickly fashioned a gag. Michael would be calling soon and he couldn't have one of the hostages whining during negotiations.

Leaving the two doctors securely tied up, the woman in a chair and the man lying on a gurney, Larry locked the door to the office and made a quick sweep of the clinic. He had already locked the doors and secured the windows. He had also run trip wires attached to small pipe bombs to cover what he considered to be the weak spots in his defense. Once he was satisfied nobody was going to drop in unexpectedly, he made a detour to the kitchen and made himself some coffee.

He had been amused that the people who had kidnapped Michael hadn't thought it prudent to: one, get their prisoner out of Miami and two, make sure Michael's two guard dogs were dead. He understood how Sam Axe could be overlooked. The disgraced naval officer was a drunken womanizer who mooched off everybody around him. But Fiona Glenanne, surely they had researched the girlfriend?

Sipping on the hot bitter brew, which was nowhere near as nice as the cortaditos the baristas throughout Miami and South America served, Larry frowned as his mind dwelt on the tiny Irish psychopath. _He should have dealt with her years ago when he first realized Michael was getting attached._

He had thought more than once about ending the life of the auburn haired firestarter. But each time he had pulled back from pulling the trigger. She was too protected. Michael would never give up on the hunt for the person who killed his one and only serious girlfriend. But the Kid wasn't the only danger. Ms. Glenanne had four over protective brothers. He had no doubt in his mind that they would never give up on finding and killing the person who harmed their sister.

While watching from the shadows during the latter days of his protege's Irish assignment, Larry had taken the time to look into the history of the Glenanne clan and what he had found was a worrying trend for retribution and bloody revenge when crossed, which would have put certain Sicilian families to shame.

_A few weeks after her father left prison in a casket, the prison itself was attacked by a homemade bomb planted in the back of a delivery truck, which caused massive damage to the entrance and several of the offices, killing two prison guards and injuring fifteen more prison staff._

_A few years later, the eldest brother was shot down and killed outside the family home during an arrest gone wrong. Months afterwards, when the furor caused by their actions had died down, the squad of elite paratroopers who had done the deed were put back on to the streets of Belfast. It was during their first night patrol that they were lured into a narrow alleyway by a teenage girl and boy who'd been throwing stones and shouting abuse. Then suddenly they had found themselves caught in an ambush and gunned down by what witnesses described as a lone masked gunman armed with some sort of fully automatic rifle._

_Finally, there was the accidental shooting during a disturbance in Belfast city center of the youngest sibling, an innocent girl with no connection to any of the violence which tainted the other members of her family. The captain in charge of the British infantry unit involved disappeared, never to been seen again, and the boy soldier who had panicked in the face of a hostile crowd and opened fire was killed weeks later back in his English home town by a single shot to the head from an unidentified sniper's rifle._

No, he had no intention on bringing that sort of wrath down on his head. He smiled, barring his teeth as his blue eyes sparkled at his cunning. While he had to admire the family's appetite for violence, he certainly wouldn't risk his own neck to get the satisfaction of seeing Fiona Glenanne's lifeless body sprawled on a pavement. But that didn't mean he wouldn't stoop to setting somebody else up to face the Glenanne family's commendable blood lust. _Yep, the Irishwoman could have been a problem if she wasn't so predictable._

The ringing of the phone in the office drew the undead assassin's attention away from his future plans for Ms. Glenanne. Crossing from the kitchen to the office, carefully stepping over the spider web of near invisible wires on his way, Larry picked up the phone.

"_Larry?"_

"Hey, pal. A little bird told me you couldn't be reached. Glad to see he was wrong."

"_What are you doing here, Lare? Last time we said goodbye, I was watching you through a sniper scope. What made you think I ever wanted to hear from you again?"_

"Ouch, that's a little harsh, Kid... Didn't Sam tell you? I heard what had happened and I came down here to help."

Behind the anger, he could hear the weakness in his protégé's voice and it just confirmed the information he had dragged or rather torn out of the wealthy and self-important Oscar Strauss… Though the CEO of Strauss Industries had certainly lost the pompous attitude when he slipped, banged his head and fell off the side of his yacht twelve miles out in the Gulf of Mexico.

"_You're threatening to kill my doctors. How's that supposed to help me?"_

"I just needed to get your attention, Kid, that's all." He glanced over to his kidnapees. "You'll be happy to know they are both _fine_. The lady is a little shaken up, and Juan has a couple of new holes in his body - but, hey, nothing fatal. What you should be concerned about is the friends of that bounty hunter I put down. Because I guarantee you, there are more just like him on their way... So where are you? The sooner we get away from this dump, the better."

He did his best to remain calm as he listened to the whispered, muffled voices in the background that had to belong to Axe and Glenanne, obviously coaching Michael on what to say.

Strauss, before his "accident," had told him there had been some argument between his boss and Markov when the FSB interrogator informed them that the powerful psychotic drugs he was using to break his prisoner down were experimental and that all the other subjects who had been injected with the cocktail had ended their ordeal delusional and weakened to the point of death.

"_I'm out at the other end of the Island, at th- the Delaney's villa, you can't miss it. L – let the doctors go and come over. We'll talk."_

Larry smirked and glanced at his hostages. He knew Michael's friends wouldn't be waiting to welcome him with open arms. But he had already thought of a counter measure to the ambush he suspected they had planned for him.

"Sure thing, Kid. I've just got one little condition... Before I come to you, I'd like your girlfriend to come over to the clinic."

"_NO!_"

"Aw, c'mon Kid... I'm not the bad guy here. But Sam and that little terrorist you're dating, let's just say there are trust issues on both sides. If I come out to see you, I need to know I'm not just walking into a trap. So Fiona comes to me and I'll leave her somewhere - safe and secure while we come a to an agreement."

"_It's fine. Tell him I'll be there."_

"_No! No way! You're not go -"_

Larry smiled as he caught Michael's panicked voice arguing with his friends. He glanced at his watch. _Less than five minutes to shatter the tight little group... Gosh, he was good._

"Hey, I'll give you guys thirty minutes to discuss my offer. But if Fiona isn't standing unarmed outside the clinic doors at the end of that time, I'll take it you don't want my help and, after I dispose of any witnesses of course, I'll be on my way."

**()()**

"No! No way! You're not go – going. I – I won't let y-you." Michael dropped the phone, his eyes focussed solely on the woman who had just whispered in his ear her assent to his former mentor's demand.

"Michael, you have to calm down." Fiona stroked the palm of her hand down his cheek as she tried to soothe the wild eyed spy and stop what she was sure about to develop into another panic attack, or worse, a seizure.

"_Hey, I'll give you guys thirty minutes to discuss my offer. But if Fiona isn't standing unarmed outside the clinic doors at the end of that time, I'll take it you don't want my help and, after I dispose of any witnesses of course, I'll be on my way."_

Larry's coolly worded threat coming through the handset of the phone now laying on the table had sent Michael's anxiety levels up to a new high. He lurched to his feet and took several steps before Fiona, aided by Sam, stopped him, their hands on his arms and shoulders pulling and pushing him back onto the chair

"Y-you don't understand. Larry… he, he has m-more angles than you can think of. He'll kill you. I – I can't let him kill you." He was desperate to make them understand whatever they were thinking about doing was bound to fail.

The undead spy had nine lives. He always got what he wanted; he never gave up on a target. The higher-ups in the CIA had used Larry for all the worst jobs because, regardless of the cost, when he set his mind to something, he did _whatever _was necessary to succeed.

But talking was becoming harder as his mind spun more and more out of control. The walls of the room were closing in on him, the ceiling cracking and crumbling down upon his head. His chest was constricting each time he took a breath, making it impossible to breathe. As his thoughts splintered further, all he wanted to do was escape the small tight space they had forced him into.

Fiona's hands cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look into her eyes, the familiar mixture of soft skin and the ridges from callouses caused by spending too much time holding a gun had a subtle calming effect on his shattered nerves, not enough to bring him all the way back but enough to stop him from toppling over into madness. He slowly sunk back, allowing his friends to guide him down onto the chair, his blue orbs remaining locked onto her blue green ones.

"Michael," she spoke slowly and firmly, holding his gaze with her own. "If I don't go to the clinic, Larry will kill the Zedillos. I'll be fine, he won't hurt me. He knows if he does that you'll hunt him down and kill him."

"Mike, Larry told me he knows who's comin' after us... We have to get him here to make him talk," Sam added.

"No..." he managed to gasp, but the woman with the eyes the color of the Irish sea after a storm held him captive with her calm gaze.

"You have to let me go. You have to trust us to do this for you."

The dark haired spy's head was reeling. He ran the tip of his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. His upper lip suddenly felt wet and then he saw the look of worry on the faces of his friends.

"Mike?"

"Michael, Michael… your nose."

Their voices sounded far away and everything was becoming dark. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were stuck in his throat and then there was nothing.

**()()**

"Jeez, holy crap, Mikey." Sam caught hold of his friend just as the younger man slumped forward.

"Sam!" Fiona looked up, her features stricken as she helped support Michael's weight.

"Just a minute, Fi." Sam took charge in an instant, turning to where Jojo Delaney, now on his feet, was coming around the table to join them. "Jojo, go get Billy... You might as well bring your family down here now too. We don't have long to get ready. Fi, put the covers back on the bed and then get me a towel. We need to try and stop the bleeding."

While Jojo headed back along the tunnel to let their medic know his services were required, the former naval commander carefully carried his friend over to the bed, placing the younger man on his back with his head and shoulders propped up on the pillows.

"Hey, Mikey!" He tapped the spy sharply on the cheek and pinched the back of his hand. "C'mon, quit yar lollygagging. We've got work to do, fella." Another slightly harder slap to the face caused Michael's eyelids to briefly flutter open and the younger man's hand to move as if to remove the annoyance to his nap.

"He's gonna be fine." Sam breathed a sigh of relief as the Irishwoman rushed back to his side. "He's just worn out, that's all... Look, you have to get going if you're gonna make Larry's deadline... Try to delay the blood thirsty ghoul as long as you can, but don't push him too hard. Remember he has to think he's got us beat."

"Are you sure? Maybe I should stay."

The older man slowly shook his head. "No, our favorite psycho asked for you, lady, and as much as it hurts me to say it, you're the best man for the job... Just remember to do a good job of hiding whatever you're taking with you."

"I still don't know why you're insisting on playing this game," she said, ignoring his last instruction. "I could just put a bullet between the weasel's eyes as soon as he opens the door."

"Or how about you could stick with the program and let him think he's won? You wait for him to leave and then you do whatever you have to get free and make sure the docs are both safe. Let me worry about the rest, Tinkerbell."

She narrowed her eyes. "And what if he just shoots at me as soon as he sees me?"

"Then you get to shoot back... Happy?"

The slender woman pulled her long hair back away from her face and fixed it into a bun with several hair pins, all the time her eyes fixed on the older man. "You've not told me how you plan to capture Larry," she commented. "Do ya plan ta drink him under tha table?"

"Don't I wish, sister…" He could really have used a mojito or two right about now. "Now get going before Mikey wakes up and we have to go through this all over again."

**()()**

Fiona held her hands at shoulder height, slowly turning around, before on command lifting the hem of her loose fitting top to expose her torso to the watching man with the million dollar smile.

"It's good to know at least one of Michael's little band know how to follow orders." Larry smirked and then gestured with the barrel of the gun he held for the auburn haired woman to step through the door and inside the clinic.

As soon as she entered she felt the cold hard muzzle of the undead spy's hand gun push into her spine and then, biting down on the revulsion, the Irishwoman stood completely still as the older man ran his hand over her, searching for any hidden weapons.

"Really?" He tutted, tapping her shoulder with the blade of the small knife he had found in a sheath attached to her thigh. "I'm disappointed, Fiona. I thought you would be – less obvious... Walk forward, watch out for the wires."

"So, what's the plan, Larry? Kill us all?" she asked as she carefully stepped over the barely visible trip wires.

"Ouch, somebody has been telling tales outta school... Has that overgrown mamma's boy, Axe, been speaking out of turn?"

"You forget, I know who you are. Michael -"

"Michael told you what?" He reached around her to open the door to the small examination room he had prepared for her arrival. "Did he tell you how long we worked together? How I was the only one who believed in him? Who made him into the one of the most feared men in Russia?"

"He's nothing like you." She spun around to face the cold blooded assassin, her whole being vibrating with defiance as she fought the urge to attack the gloating bastard who was now literally laughing in her face.

He stared at her. The laughter had stopped as fast as it had begun as Larry seemed to change before her eyes.

"Sometimes, you're exactly what he needs." Gazing down at her with pity in his eyes, he continued to speak. "And then there are other times when he pushes you away... Do you know why he pushes so hard, why he will never commit to you? It's because deep down, he knows you'll never truly accept him for who he really is. Ask him about Serbia and Bosnia; ask him what went on in the militia camps. Or how about Kiev? Did he ever tell you how he felt when he dismantled a whole Spetnaz team single handed? We were an unstoppable team for a long, long time, Fiona, and we will be again.."

"I don't believe you." She glowered back at him.

"You don't have to... When we go after the men who tried to kill him, you'll have a ringside seat to witness the _real_ Michael Westen in action."

"There is no 'we,' Larry. Michael will never work with you... What have you done with Pilar and her husband?"

"They're nearby," the spy smirked. "And, sweetheart, Michael worked with me for over three years, what makes you think he won't do it again?"

As he finished speaking, his arm rose and then came down lightning fast, striking the smaller woman with a hard blow to the side of the head, dropping her to the floor with a puppet with its strings cut.

"Especially once I eliminate the competition."

Still smiling, the former intelligence agent gathered the unconsciousness woman in his arms and placed her on the examination table. He then quickly strapped her down using the soft restraints he had discovered in the store room.

Whistling a happy tune, he went off to put the finishing details to his scheme to make sure Michael and Sam behaved themselves during the upcoming meeting.

**()()**

Sam Axe paced the length of the covered veranda, every now and again he paused straining his eyes to search the evening gloom for any sign of a vehicle travelling towards the Delaney's property, and then with an impatient sigh, he would begin pacing again. It had been just over an hour since Larry Sizemore's ultimatum and nearly forty minutes since Fiona sent a text to say she was standing outside the clinic. Glancing at his watch, the former SEAL bit down on his bottom lip... What was keeping the sadistic sonuvabitch?

_By the time Billy Clemens, disgraced army surgeon turned medic for the gunrunners and smugglers who frequented the South Florida coastline, had made his to the subterranean panic room, Sam had been pretty sure his best friend had just been overwhelmed by the stress of the situation and hadn't suffered another set back to his recovery. And it wasn't long before the aged hippie had agreed with his diagnosis._

_With one problem solved, the former Navy man had left the medic to watch over the patient and then helped Jojo carry his family's belongings down along the tunnel, through the panic room and out the other side in to a cave which was only accessible from the sea during low tide._

"_I know it's not the best place to hang out, but it's the safest," he'd apologized to Trini for forcing her and her children out of their home and into the dark cave to await the turning of the tide and a night time crossing to the mainland. _

"_Just make sure that you all are still alive at the end of the day. You do that and you have nothing to apologize for," the dark skinned woman had answered him with a smile._

The sound of a car slowing by the entrance to the Delaney home drew Sam's attention and, as a dark grey sedan came through the gates, he took a deep breath and stepped off the veranda to meet his unwelcome guest.

"Sam Axe…" Larry got out of the car with his gun at the ready. "Still on the beer and donut diet I see."

"I'll take the beer and donuts over drinking the blood of innocent children every day," Sam snapped back. "But, hey, that's just me. Guess I just don't have your appetites, huh, Lare?"

The older spy frowned as he came to around the front of his stolen car. "Oh, now, what is it with all the hurtful comments? I'm here as a friend and, let's face it, Michael needs more than a wet nurse and a mad bomber at his side if he is going to live through another week. Now, _where is he?"_

As he spoke the last words, Mr. Sizemore raised the gun up and thumbed back the hammer. Sam hesitated and then pointed to the house. "He's in there. But you should know, he's too sick to move."

"Let me be the judge of that... Oh and Sam, if you have any surprises waiting for me inside, you should know I've got a surprise or two of my own."

Mr. Axe caught the phone which the other man tossed to him. What he saw made him silently pray Fiona was as good as he believed she was.

The first picture on the phone was date and time stamped less than half an hour ago. Pilar Zedillo was secured in a chair, her black hair tied away from her neck, which was decorated by a half brick of C-4 wired to a detonator that was held in place by a belt tightly wound around her neck.

"That little device is due to go off in an hour unless I put a nine digit code into that phone and press send... Though that particular picture doesn't do the whole scene justice because Fiona is in the room next door, so if you, just, you know…."

Larry gestured for Sam to bring up the next in a set of three photographs.

"That is Fiona strapped down on a bed. She's fine, by the way, for now. But she's in the room right next door to where the soon to be headless lady is sitting and if you go to the last pic... There, see that's a military grade detonator attached to that high explosive. So now you've seen I'm not playing games. Hand me my phone back and take me to Michael."

All signs of good humor were gone as Larry got down to business. _It had been a tactical risk not attaching the bomb collar to the ex-terrorist's neck instead of the good doctor, but he knew that particular image would have set off both his prey and his protégé. No sense in giving either man any more reason to fight his carefully laid plans. He would just have to trust that the restraints would do their job until he could finish his business here._

With his heart beating hard and fast, Sam tried to push away the image of Pilar Zedillo attached to a bomb which looked to have the capability to take out at least half of the clinic. Handing Larry his cell back, the ex-SEAL led the way back inside and straight towards the laundry room at the back of the kitchen. The only thing he could do to help save the Zedillos was stick to his plan and hope that Fiona could free herself from her bonds to do her part.

This next step was the make or break move. If he couldn't convince the highly paranoid former agent to follow him down into the narrow tunnel, all was lost.

"You gotta be kidding me." Larry looked down the staircase, his blue eyes narrowing as he took in the path he was expected to take.

"What's the problem, Larry? I thought it would remind you of your crypt. The undead like small dark places, don't they?"

"Don't play games with me, Axe." The older man's face was full of menace.

"It's no game. Mikey is in a panic room down there about a quarter mile in... There's just one way in and out. You wanna see Mike, you're gonna have to suck it up and go down there because he's way too sick to walk out here."

He watched warily as the spy weighed up his options, or rather lack of them. "I don't know what you're scared of, Larry. I mean, you're the guy with the gun. You've got three hostages, one who is wearing a C-4 necklace… Are you honestly telling me you're scared of the dark?"

The military man watched as the ex-operative chewed on his lip, his eyes flickering around the small space taking in the little details, trying to discover the trap he was sure existed.

"Not meaning to push ya, Lare, but don't you have a schedule to keep to? It would be a shame to blow a woman's head off for no reason."

The toothy smile returned and the tension lifted from the spy's shoulders. "You lead the way, you stay right in front of me all the time... And you better remember that lady doctor only has less than fifty minutes until she loses her head."

They walked slowly, hunched forward because of the low ceiling, their footsteps sounding loud in the semi-darkness as some of the lights which had been run down there were no longer working. Every now and again they paused so Larry could listen for anybody following them.

"Look, there's the door to the panic room." Sam pointed ahead and as he spoke his ankle hit the fishing wire which had been strung across the tunnel.

He only just had time to tightly close his eyes and get his hands to his ears as a bright light filled the tight narrow space along with the deafening boom of a stun grenade exploding behind him.

With Jojo's family safely waiting in the cave beyond the panic room for the tide to make it possible to leave Isla and the gunrunner's men who had been guarding the house now on their way back to the town at the far end of the island, Sam had then set about preparing his trap. He was the lure, Michael the bait and the stun grenade positioned in the dimly lit tunnel five feet behind where the tripwire crossed the path was the trap door snapping shut.

Both men lay as if dead on the cold uneven ground of the smoke filled tunnel. For nearly half a minute, there was no soun and then slowly the door to the panic room was drawn back to reveal a white faced Billy Clemens and an even paler Michael Westen, who was hanging on the medic's neck and leaning heavily upon him in an effort to stay upright.

"What the hell happened?" Michael gasped. "Sam? Sam?" he shouted at the prone body as he tugged in vain trying to move the other man faster towards the scene of the explosion.

But there was no answer from either his best friend or his former mentor as the smoke cleared.

**()()**

**A/N: **Much of the history of the Glenanne family is told in the story **Victims of War** by **Jedi's Pal**.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**()()**

**Chapter Forty Four**

"What the – hell – hap – pened?" Michael coughed and choked as the harsh acrid smoke filling the tunnel began to compromise his ability to breathe. "Sam? – Sam?" he shouted at the prone body as he tugged in vain on the T-shirt of the medic, who was helping to hold him up, in an effort to make the older man to move faster towards the scene of the explosion.

"I told ya, Mike. This was all their harebrained idea. He said something about rigging up a flash bang to a trip wire." Billy tried to increase his pace but it was difficult, crouched over because of the low ceiling and with the other man hanging off him. "All I know is Sam said after I heard the boom I was supposed to get the door open and tie up the dude with him."

Reaching the scene of the explosion, Michael found himself propped up against the wall while Billy began to check out the former SEAL who had thought putting himself in a middle of an ambush was a good idea. With his heart threatening to jump out of his chest in the close confines of the tunnel, Michael clawed at the ragged rock wall in an effort to stay upright as he tried to make sense of the scene.

_Letting off a stun grenade in such close quarters was a risky move...What had his friend been thinking? ..._ Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fingers of his former mentor begin to twitch and all of a sudden Sam's potential damaged sight and hearing loss wasn't his greatest concern.

"No! No, Billy! Forget Sam! Tie Larry up _now_…"

"What?! Mike, your friend -" The medic's head whipped round to stare at him in disbelief.

But the ex-spy missed the look, as all his attention was fixed on the spy with nine lives who was showing signs of regaining his senses... _If Larry woke up first, if Larry was still free…_ Panic started to rise up like a tidal wave at the thoughts of what Mr Sizemore could… no, would do.

He spotted Larry's gun lying a few yards away and without another thought, he threw himself forward, his hand desperately reaching out. Only when his palm closed about the chequered handle of weapon and he felt the comforting weight of the cold steel did he feel a measure of security.

Staying on the hard rough surface of the tunnel floor, Michael twisted around and slipped his finger around the trigger, preparing to shoot the man he had once thought of as a father figure... _If he so much as looked like he was going to put up a fight..._ Billy hurriedly pulled the wet work specialist's arms behind his back and slipped the heavy duty cable ties around the man's wrists, pulling the plastic tight enough to leave marks on the skin.

"Satisfied?" the medic asked with a huff.

"How, how's S-Sam?" Michael wanted to know now that Larry was secure, his voice stuttering as he still tried to draw in enough air to talk.

"Still out cold... Look, you need to get outta here. All this smoke is gonna mess up your -" Mr Clemens suddenly altered his gaze to further down the tunnel where the sound of rushed footsteps could be heard getting closer. "Ah, about time Jojo. Where the hell have you been, dude? You think I can d-?"

"Stop yar whining, Billy. I'm here now... Sam ordered me to hold back." The gunrunner came rushing through the thinning smoke, skidding to a stop when he saw the gun being aimed in his direction. "Whoa! Hey, easy, Mike! How bout I take that now?" Jojo reached down and pulled the weapon out of Michael's weak grip before hauling the injured spy up on to his feet. "You think you can get yourself back to the room?"

The dark haired man nodded, relieved now that there was somebody else there capable of protecting his friend. "W-watch him..." he stammered, gesturing to the tied figure.

"I got him, Mike. Now, get going. We'll be right behind you."

Michael struggled to stay upright as he clung to the cold damp stone wall for support on his slow walk back to the panic room. By the time he pushed through the half open door, his legs were shaking so badly they could barely hold his weight. Reaching out, he as good as fell onto one the wooden chairs next to the table, slumping forward to rest his head on his arms on the table top.

After a moment, he raised his head towards the sounds coming from the tunnel. Staring through bloodshot eyes, his vision fading out he fought to stay awake, he watched Billy drag Sam's limp body through the door and over to the nearest of the bunk beds. Following behind, Jojo came in with Larry, the older man now moaning in pain and struggling weakly against his bonds.

"Why isn't Sam awaking up?" Mr Westen asked with growing concern, his attention flickering between his friend's lifeless body and that of his former partner, who looked to be recovering from the explosion far quicker than the younger ex-SEAL.

"He musta hit his head when he went down, there's a good size lump coming up just above his ear." Billy answered without looking around.

"Sh-shouldn't you –?"

"I'm doin' all I can, Mike. So just shut the hell up, huh, and let me do my job... Jojo, get a couple of those oxygen cylinders. Bring one over here for Sam and the other one for Mikey over there... And don't argue with me, I'm not in the mood, I can hear your breathing from over here and it's not good," the medic grumbled.

Reluctantly Michael accepted the face mask Mr Delaney handed him and placed it over his mouth and nose, but he couldn't relax without knowing everything was going to be alright.

"Mike, you gotta rest up. C'mon, I'm gonna help ya over to the bed." The gunrunner's large rough hand wrapped around his arm, but the ex-spy shook his head and stubbornly shrugged off the older man's grip.

_Larry needed to be watched... If he got free... _

"Where's Fi?" Michael demanded, as his breathing eased and the oxygen helped to clear his head a little bit.

"You'll have to ask your friend there when he's able to talk," Jojo answered with a hint of menace directed towards their prisoner, who was beginning to come around.

**()()**

As soon as he was capable, Larry Sizemore maneuvred himself into a sitting position with his back resting up against the wall. To say he was surprised that the wet rag Axe had had the balls to take a hit from a stun grenade in order to bring him down was a massive understatement. _Who knew the Boy Scout had it in him?_

Turning his head slowly, the cold hearted assassin took in his surroundings. It wasn't long before his calculating gaze was drawn to the line of beds where Sam Axe, who by all the coughing and retching sounds, was finally regaining his senses after the explosion.

Watching over Michael's pet SEAL were two men Larry had never seen before, a skinny hippy who looked to have somehow escaped from the sixties and a tall muscular dark skinned man who was definitely going to be trouble if it came to having to make an escape. And then the assassin's eyes alighted on his missing protégé, sitting slumped on a chair close by.

"Hey, pal," he called out, his bright cheery smile hiding his chagrin at the condition of younger man. "Great to see you up and around, though I gotta say, you look like hell." _And there was another understatement. The kid looked worse than hell. His former apprentice looked like he was hanging onto life by his fingertips._

Michael half turned and attempted to straighten up. "What have you done with Fiona?"

The Kid's voice was barely above a whisper, the whites of his eyes filled with moisture and bloodshot. He also wasn't thinking clearly because the Michael Westen the older spy had worked with for over three years would have never made such a basic tactical error as letting a prisoner know what or who he cared about most.

Before Mr. Sizemore could scold his former student about his lack of basic trade craft, another voice interrupted their conversation.

"Hey you!" The dark skinned man came striding across the room. "Shut the hell up... Mike, I don't think -"

"It's okay, Jojo. I'm fine," the younger man interrupted, weakly waving his hand in the other man's direction.

"Yeah, Jojo, back off, we're fine. Me and Michael go back a long way." Larry smirked, his blue eyes locking with the gunrunner's brown orbs, daring the stranger to interfere any further.

Jojo paused. "You sure, Mike?"

"I'm sure... Larry was just going to tell me what he did to Fiona."

"Really? Well, go ahead, Larry. Don't be shy on my account." Mr Delaney barred his own teeth in a wide grin and folded his arms across his chest.

The former spy turned assassin lost his smile, sensing the challenge in the other man's whole posture. "What's the time, Michael?"

"Time?" his ex-partner parroted back.

"Geez, kid," Mr Sizemore sounded disgusted at his former protégé's lack of basic information. "How long have I been down here?"

"It's been thirty minutes since ya stepped into the tunnel," Jojo filled in the gap.

"Thirty minutes? Well, Kid... If you want to save your little girlfriend, you need to undo these restraints and let me get somewhere I can use my phone."

"What have you done?" Michael felt a cold chill run up and down his spine. He went to rise up out of the chair, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. "What the –? If you've done anything to her, Larry, I swear I'll-"

"Yes! That's what I've been waiting to see." The older man crowed, seeing the anger in those intense blue eyes.

Then before he could say any more, his words were cut off by a strong hand wrapping around his throat and lifting him up into the air.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jojo Delaney snarled. The gunrunner's face was inches off the older man's.

"It's okay, Jojo. Let him down." Sam Axe's calm voice cut through the violence, as the former SEAL slowly walked over to join the group.

"Sam, he's done something to Fi." Michael finally made it to his feet, using the table and the back of a chair to maintain his balance.

"Jojo, let him down... I hate to say it, buddy, but we need him."

Larry gasped and collapsed onto the hard stone floor, struggling to breath as the dark skinned gunrunner released him.

"If he's done anything to the docs or Fi, he won't be walking outta here whether _you_ need him or not." Mr Delaney took a reluctant step back from the prisoner nonetheless.

"Guys – please... What's so – important – about – time?" Michael swayed, his breathing becoming more forced by the second.

"Mike, sit down before you fall down. I'm gonna deal with this," Sam ordered, as he pushed his best friend back onto the chair. "Larry, what's the code? Come on, what are the numbers?"

Larry smiled. _Now he was back in charge. Now they would have no choice but to do what he said in the hope of stopping the little Irish terrorist from getting blown to bits_.

"Untie me, give me back my gun and then we'll all go back up to the house and I'll stop the..." He glanced at his former partner, knowing his next words were going to spark an explosion. "...bomb blasting poor little Fiona to pieces."

He slowly pushed himself back into a sitting position as Sam, ever the boy scout, fought to keep the gunrunner back and at the same time tried to order Michael to stay in his seat. But while the assassin was enjoying the spectacle before him, he had failed to keep track on the other man in the room.

Strong fingers gripping his hair, pulling his head over to the side, exposing his neck to what felt the sting of a needle, was the first warning Larry got of the Billy's intentions.

"That's enough out of all of you!" The room fell silent as every eye turned towards the wild eyed medic. "This syringe is full of bleach... Tell them what they want to know or I'm gonna -"

"Billy..." Sam took a step forward as if to intervene and then he stopped and frowned, turning his attention to the undead spy. "Sorry, Lare, this is Billy's call. He likes his poisons almost as much as you do."

The former operative was quivering with impotent rage, his lips curled in a snarl. _When he got free this man, Billy, was going to the top of the list. He would break the bastard's neck, he would take his knife and -_ the thoughts came to a sudden stop as he felt the needle slide further into his vein.

"I think he wants you to give me the code, Larry," Sam spoke again, his gaze never wavering.

"Capital D, one, six, s, one, four, capital J, capital G, nine." The assassin spat out the code which would stop the bomb about Pilar Zedillo's neck exploding.

As soon as he spoke the needle was pulled from his neck and Billy stepped away, his face flushed. "I – er – I wouldn't have done it... But... er, he... it sounded like you needed an answer quick and it had worked before with – so I - er thought I'd give it a try."

"Good work, Billy." Sam smiled before turning to the gunrunner. "Can you remember that code? Good, take that sonuvabitch's phone and, as soon as you can get a signal, key it in."

Without questioning the order, Jojo set off running as fast as he could for the surface.

**()()**

Fiona's eyes flickered open and she clenched her jaw to stop a groan of pain from passing her lips. _Oh, she was mad now. If it weren't bad enough ta have ta put up with tha bastid's hands all over her, he had ta hit her upside tha head..._

Flexing her arms and legs to test the strength and tightness of the thick leather straps holding her to the bed, the former PIRA terrorist entertained herself by thinking about all the things she was going to do to Mr. Sizemore when she got her hands on him.

It only took her less than thirty seconds to realize that her escape wasn't going to be as easy as sliding her slender limbs out of the restraints, so she moved on to more drastic measures. Making a fist with her left hand, she made sure the knuckle on her thumb was protruding slightly and then jerked and twisted against the strap and buckle closed about her wrist. Biting down hard enough on her bottom lip to draw blood, she dislocated her thumb and then slowly straightened her hand and pulled it through the narrow gap.

Cursing under her breath, with tears of pain filling her eyes, the Irishwoman sat up and, working as fast as she could, freed her other limbs from their confines. _Oh yes, Larry Sizemore wa' going ta pay dearly for this. She wa' going ta rip his…_...Further profanities flowed as she manipulated the damage digit back into line.

With her thumb back in place, Fiona jumped down from the bed and, still clutching her rapidly swelling hand, she checked out the rest of the room. Finding a drawer filled with bandages, she wrapped up her swollen wrist and thumb, her frown deepening when she noticed her fingertips.

"Ohh, I've broken nail." She scowled as she added this indignity to the list she was building against Michael's old CIA partner.

With her injury treated and a sharp pair of scissors in her back pocket, as a weapon just in case she wasn't alone, Fiona went to the door to her room. As expected, it was locked. Freeing her long auburn hair from it's tightly constructed bun, she pulled out her favorite lock picks from amongst the hair pins. Smiling happily, the tiny Irishwoman bent forward and made quick work of unlocking the door. Then cautiously she twisted the handle and opened the door just a crack. Finding no booby traps attached to the handle or the frame, she stepped out into the patients waiting room.

Her first objective was to find the doctors and any other hostages Mr. Sizemore might have taken. Then once she knew they were safe, she would deal with the pipe bombs scattered about the premises. Gingerly making her way over the wires, the former guerilla tried the first door she came to and was instantly on high alert.

It wasn't the sight of Juan Zedillo lying on a gurney tied down in the same manner she had been, or all the blood that was pooling on the floor from where it had leaked out of the blood soaked bandage wrapped about the male doctors thigh.

What had Ms. Glenanne's heart racing was the large piece of C-4 taped around the slender neck of a terrified Pilar Zedillo and the prominent digital timer counting down from two minutes to one fifty nine – one fifty eight...

**()()**

Larry leaned back heavily against the wall, watching all this through narrowed eyes. Except for Sam Axe and Fiona Glenanne, he hadn't factored in the other people Michael might have gathered around him. Still, it didn't matter because all the talk of a code to stop the bomb exploding was just that: talk.

He had known right from the start that Sam Axe would do his damnedest to stop him getting near Michael. The bomb on a timer was just a ploy, to force the nurse maid to agree to his terms. The hour long delay until boom time was nothing more than a calculated, risk which as it turned out had worked perfectly. Michael would never know there was no chance of saving his girlfriend and it was all thanks to Axe's game with the stun grenade.

He could see it playing out in his mind's eye. Jojo would key in the useless code around the same time, or hopefully seconds after, the bomb around dear Pilar Zedillo's pretty neck was due to go off, destroying half the clinic and everybody within thirty feet of the blast.

Michael would be left heartbroken, furious, and looking for somebody to blame. So now all that was left to do was make sure the Kid knew who was really at fault. That if his best friend hadn't played games, his psychotic little girlfriend would still be alive.

"I gotta tell ya, Kid, I don't think much of your hospitality. Is this the way you treat all your old friends?"

"Old friends don't generally threaten my other friends," Mr Westen countered, his voice muffled slightly by the oxygen mask which Sam had insisted he put back on.

"Oh, don't be like that. Really, Michael? Do you honestly think _I_ would hurt you?"

"Don't listen to him, Mike... You might not want to hurt him, but that didn't stopped you from putting a bomb around an innocent woman's neck," Sam interrupted before the ex-spy could answer.

Larry chose to ignore the criticism and changed the subject, determined to get _his_ Kid listening to him before the gunrunner came back with the bad news.

"Michael, _I_ came looking for you as soon as I heard you were in trouble. Instead of sitting around playing the nurse maid, _I've _been out there tracking down the people who did this to you. I've already found the man who assisted the FSB in your capture... Oh, and he told me some very interesting things about a certain loose lipped drunk, not a million miles away from here, who spilled his guts about you." He glared at the former SEAL, who stood with a hand resting on Michael's shoulder. "And as for Doctor Zedillo, that wouldn't have been necessary if your friends weren't so judgemental."

"If Fiona has been hurt, if that bomb goes off -"

"_If _that device goes off, it will be because your friend there didn't have the sense to keep his word. Instead of just bringing me straight to you, he had to play at being a hero... If anything has happened to dear sweet Fiona, that's all on him."

**()()**

The Irishwoman crossed the room swiftly, dropping down onto her knees in front of the doctor, less than two minutes wasn't a lot of time to disarm a bomb when she had no idea how skilled the former CIA operative was with explosives. _But needs must when the devil drives, as me mam used ta say._

Offering a reassuring smile to the trembling woman, Fiona set about studying the device. "You're in luck, Doctor Zedillo," she spoke lightly trying to keep the other woman calm. "I've been making devices like this since I was six years old. Da taught me in his basement, I once blew up me granny's wheelbarrow cuz I got the mix wrong. Too much potassium me da reckoned. It was a harsh lesson as it was her favorite barrow and she was as mad as hell, but it also a valuable lesson..."

She kept up the chatter as she worked out how Larry had wired up the bomb and then, with just the lightest touch of her fingers, she took hold of the timer, steadying it while she pulled the wires out of the simple piece of electronics.

_An' thot's something else tha piece of scum is gonna play fer. Tha bastid might be able ta poison an innocent woman, but he cannae make a bomb fer love nor money. _

She finished freeing up the doctor. "Thar ya go... See ta yar man while I go clear us a way out."

"Gracias, gracias... Mi Dios." Pilar almost fell out of the chair and staggered to her wounded husband's side.

Leaving the dark haired Dr. Zedillo to treat her husband's wounds, Fiona left the room to search the rest of the clinic and clear away all of Larry's little surprises set to kill or maim the unwary. With the hostages freed, it was as if a weight had been lifted from the auburn haired woman's shoulders and the chance of a little action had released some of the tension which had built up over the last few weeks. _Mabbe as a thank ya, she'd let Mr. Sizemore die a wee bit quicker than she had been intending._

It took Fiona nearly half an hour to clear away the tripwires and pipe bombs that Larry had used to keep the building secure during his absence. Only when she had made the clinic safe did she open the doors to let Jojo's waiting crew inside.

"Ya took your time girl. We was getting' ready to storm the place." Raul, Jojo's second in command, grumbled as his men entered the building.

"If you had, I'd have been stuck cleaning itty bitty pieces of you off the floor and walls," she snipped back as she waved one of the pipe bombs in his face. "What happened with Larry?"

"They've got him, lass. That's all I know. Jojo asked about an explosion when he called. I told him the whole place was quiet... I should give him a call."

"I will... I need to get back there." She was instantly worrying about how Michael was coping. She had slipped away after her injured lover had fallen into an exhausted sleep. If he had been woken by Larry's capture, he would be angry at what she had done and, in his present condition, there was no telling how the stress would have effected him.

"Get the doctors out of here. Take them somewhere safe. Maybe they have relatives they can stay with... Oh and did Jojo say anything about putting a guard on this place to see if anybody else turns up?"

She had thought about insisting the Zedillos came with her, back to the Delaney's villa, but changed her mind. It was unfair to keeping dragging innocent people into their problems, Michael was improving and besides the Zedillos didn't strike her as the vengeance seeking types and they would probably object to what she had planned for the evil sonuvabitch who went around strapping bombs around an innocent woman's neck. _Sam was going to be a big enough pain in the ass about what she wanted to do. The older man always got excited about the chance to run an interrogation... But Larry was going to be hers._

She was half way out of the door when she turned around and went back inside to check out the Zedillos supply of surgical tools. A few minutes later with a small bag packed, she left the clinic with a happy smile on her face. The former PIRA terrorist climbed into the Jeep she had taken from Jojo's garage and head back to the villa.

**()()**

"Mikey, you need to rest, brother. I'm sure Jojo's made the call. I bet his guys have already gone inside and are bringing Fi back here right now." Larry's eyes flickered between the two friends, his razor sharp mind already working on how to neutralize Sam Axe's bad influence on the younger man.

The scowl Michael threw in his best friend's direction, as Sam tried to encourage him to leave the chair and take the short walk to where his bed was waiting for him, warmed the assassin's cold heart.

"I'm fine here. Why don't you go and see what's keeping Jojo? I'll rest once Fiona's back and safe," the Kid, answered stubbornly.

"No, I don't think leaving you here with Larry -"

"Billy is still here. He can watch out for me. I need to know what's happening, Sam. Please just go and make sure Jojo made the call in time." _The Kid was whining like a little girl... Sam Axe really was rubbing off on his protégé._

Axe sighed, obviously uncomfortable about leaving the two of them together. Mr Sizemore ran the tip of his tongue over his lips, waiting for the right moment to intervene. _The Kid was almost ready to rebel over the constant mothering. He just had to be patient._

"Fine, okay, brother. I'll do it. I'm not happy about it. But I'll do it." The former SEAL took a couple of steps towards the door and then turned back. "But I think I'll take Larry with me. I have a few-"

"No! No, he's better off here. You shouldn't move him on your own." And there was another hint of the old Michael Westen.

"Mikey, I don't think it's a good idea leaving Larry with you." Sam made another attempt to make his friend see sense and this was when the assassin spoke up.

"How do you put up with this constant mothering, Michael?" Larry mocked. "He's a grown man, Sam. He doesn't need a wet nurse."

"I said I'm fine, Sam," Michael added.

_And there it was!_ It was plain to see that the dark haired spy was at the end of his rope. Axe couldn't push any further without risking tipping The Kid over the edge.

"Okay then... I'm gonna be back soon... Billy, if he makes one move you don't like the look of, you have my permission to stick the sonuvabitch with whatever you want."

Larry smiled. _He had won – again_. Sam was too soft hearted, too easy to manipulate and it would be the death of him. But he didn't have long to gloat because, as soon as the door to the tunnel swung shut, Michael turned towards him.

"Who paid you to come after me, Lare?"

"Well, that's the thing, Kid, you know me it's all done by e-mail." He saw a flash of irritation in the younger man's eyes. Somebody who didn't know Michael as well as he did might have missed the emotion, so the older man quickly added. "_But_, I have some leads, enough to know somebody wants you real bad and they're not afraid to throw alotta money around to get you."

"That's not good enough... I -I need to -know."

"You need to know what? I'll tell you what _I_ know, Michael." He began to make his pitch for his apprentice's soul. "You need _me._ I mean, that much is obvious... Look at you hiding out in a cave, with Sam Axe and that psychotic little Irish pixie for company." He leaned forward, wishing his hands weren't still tied behind his back. "I have a _whole_ _network_ now: Guns, safe houses, _I_ have a guy who can give you a whole new i-den-tity. All you have to do is free me to act."

"No." The shake of Michael's head and the curt denial meant nothing because the sharp eyed older man had seen the crack in the younger man's resolve. Besides, he had read the dossier on Michael's stay in Viktor Markov's house of horrors and he knew exactly how open to suggestion the other was.

"I have a place in Venezuela, you'll love it. Hidden, well protected, we could be there in a couple of hours. You'd be able to recuperate in the sun, get some color back. And while you rest up and regain your strength, I'll keep digging up names to add to the list... Then, when the time is right, we'll start crossing 'em off one at a time... It'll be just like the old days, Michael... me and you, we'll go through them all like a hot knife through butter... And I remember how you used to love a hot knife."

Michael let the oxygen mask fall onto the table. "Just tell me..."

"I can't do that Kid, not without getting something in return... You choose. My friendship, my help or go it alone. That's all you've got left, Michael... Sam and Fiona can't help you any more." He sighed heavily. "Look, if Sam hasn't gotten Fiona killed already, he's come pretty close. He's a worn out drunk, a liability... I've seen what you're facing, Kid. _You...need...me._"

"Mike, you okay there, dude?" Billy came closer. "If you're determined not to rest, you're gonna have keep that mask on."

"I'm fine, Billy... I need to speak to Sam. Can you get him for me?"

"I-"

"Please... I need to see him.. now."

Larry could barely hold himself still. He was convinced that once the skinny medic with the penchant for sticking needles in peoples' necks left the room, Michael would act like the good little soldier that he was and he would free up his old partner to act.

**()()**

As he hurried through the tunnel heading for the surface, every cell in Sam Axe's body screamed out that leaving Mike and Larry in the same room was a big mistake. He nearly turned around several times. But there in the back of his mind, he knew he'd had no choice. The risk of pushing his friend too far and sending the weakened spy into a tailspin was too great.

Emerging into the laundry room, Sam quickened his step, following the sound of Jojo's voice coming from the veranda.

"_Leave somebody watching the clinic and spread the word. We want to know if anybody comes asking about Chuck or Michael Finley... An' Raul, don't lose me any customers. I know ya hate the whole tourist thing, but for now that's our only business. So just, er... just try to smile - and be polite... Yeah, that's okay... I think I can see the jeep comin' this way."_

The fresh ocean breeze and even though the sun had set the pleasant warmth filling the air were invigorating after being in the underground shelter; however, Sam was far more concerned about finding out what was taking Jojo so long.

"So, what's the hold up?" Sam peered through the semi darkness to where the gunrunner stood.

"Oh, what do you think?" Jojo pushed his phone into his pocket and then handed over the undead spy's cell to the other man. "That little firecracker, she kept Raul and the boys waiting outside forever. Said the place was infested with pipe bombs and she wanted to clear them away. So I was waiting to hear back from her and when she didn't call, I got back onto Raul. He said she'd just driven off." The gunrunner pointed to the headlights belonging to a fast moving vehicle coming through the gates to the villa. "And there she is."

The two men watched as Ms Glenanne appeared, her long auburn hair hanging loose about her shoulders, her left hand and wrist still bandaged and in her right hand, swinging as she walked, was a small surgical bag.

"What's in the bag, Fi?" the older man asked suspiciously as she approached the duo.

The former naval commander had gotten a peek into the Glenanne family dossier while Mike was preparing for his Ireland assignment back in the day, albeit without the spy's knowledge or consent at the time, and he knew what kind of instruments her older brother would have brought to an interrogation. _What she'd done questioning Markov was going to seem tame by comparison to what she apparently had in mind for Mr. Sizemore. _

"Nothing you need worry yourself about, Sam," Fiona replied pleasantly. "I know what I'm doing."

"I'm sure you do, sister. I'm just not sure if you should be enjoying yourself that much. We-"

"We don't have time for old school polite conversation with that psychopath," she cut him off. "I know you don't agree with my methods. But, believe me, after the last hour I've had, a wee bit of blood and violence is _definitely_ what's needed."

The tiny but dangerous woman came to a stop in front of the wooden decking, her gaze settling on Michael's best friend, noting his dishevelled appearance and the faint bruise and swelling on the edge of his hair line.

"Now, where's Larry?" she asked cheerfully, only allowing just a bit of malice she felt towards the man bleed through as the Irishwoman stepped up onto the veranda.

"Down in the panic room with Mike and Billy," Sam answered flatly.

Her blue-green eyes narrowed and her lips thinned in anger. Jojo recognized the signs of an oncoming storm and slowly backed away.

"_You left Michael with Larry_?" All traces of her previous good humor were gone as she demanded an explanation.

"Hey, before you start in, it wasn't my idea, lady. Mike is worried sick about you. He's refusing to rest and arguing with him was just making him worse."

"An' ya didnae think to drag that bloodthirsty bastid out here wit' ya?" She was so angry, her natural accent came to the fore as she stabbed a pointed finger into the older man's face. "Did yar brains leak outta yar ears when ya took thot blow to yar head?"

The former SEAL self consciously touched his hand to the sore lump hidden by his hair, but not from a sharp eyed, very angry Irish leprechaun. "How?"

"Ya've gotta a bruise coming out on tha side of yar face and you're acting even dafter than normal," she snapped back. "Ya must've lost yar mind, leaving them alone!"

"They're not alone." Sam countered as he took off following after the lithe woman when she stormed past him on her way into the house. "Dammit, Tinkerbell, Larry is hog-tied and Billy is on guard duty. How much trouble can they get into?"

"If ya warn't smart enough to gag Larry, then plenty! Ya know how he gets inta Michael's head, ya idjit! Must I do everythin' meself?" she huffed as she ran through and house and into the laundry room. "Whot tha bloody hell is wrong with-"

Fiona cut off in mid-sentence and skidded to a halt at the sight of Billy Clemens ascending up from the tunnel.

"What is taking you people so long?" the medic demanded, his voice echoing throughout the rock hewn stairwell. "Can't you two do _anything_ with getting into a fight? Mike is about to have a complete meltdown waiting to see if you're still alive!" He glared at the woman who was rapidly descending towards him as he stopped climbing upwards.

But no answer to his question was forthcoming, as one and then the other of Michael's friends nearly knocked the skinny medical man over in their haste to get back to the one person who should have never been left alone with his former mentor _ever_.


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N:**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**Chapter Forty Five.**

As Larry worked on weaving his spell, making tantalizing promises of protection and eventual retribution, Michael let the words wash over him along with those of another monster who had promised to help him regain his health.

"_You need me. I mean, that much is obvious... Look at you, hiding out in a cave, with Sam Axe and that psychotic little Irish pixie for company." _

"_Sam Axe and Fiona Glenanne are not your friends, Michael. They never were. You understand that don't you?"_

"_I have a whole network now, guns, safe houses... I have a guy who can give you a whole new i-den-tity. All you have to do is free me to act."_

"_All you have to do is relax and trust that I know what's best for you."_

Hollow promises no longer held any sway over him. He was stronger now, his mind sharper than it had been for a long time. The well of anger he kept buried deep within in his soul, along with all his frustrations and resentments, was seeping through to the surface, focusing his hatred with laser-like precision.

"Just tell me..." He let the oxygen mask fall onto the table. In his head, he had already made up his mind how things were going to end. A thick cloak was descending over his tattered emotional state as he prepared to act on his instincts.

"I can't do that, Kid, not without getting something in return." Larry's smooth words were all too familiar, his former mentor always expected a pay off for any good deed.

"You choose... _My_ friendship, _my_ help or go it alone. That's all you've got left, Michael."

He didn't believe that, not for a second. It had taken him a long time to learn that particular lesson, but he had finally accepted the truth... He was damn sure he was no longer alone.

"Sam and Fiona can't help you any more... Look, if Sam hasn't gotten Fiona killed already, he's come pretty close. He's a worn out drunk, a liability... _I've_ seen what you're facing, Kid. _You...need...me._"

Suddenly, a cold chill broke through Michael's fresh clarity of thought, as the screams of the dying who usually haunted his nightmares echoed through his mind, a grim reminder of his three year apprenticeship under the tutelage of Larry Sizemore. _How could it be... the very last person he wanted help from... had to be the only one he needed? _

Each night in his sleep the ghosts from his past waited for him. Some nights they were louder than others, but they never entirely quietened down, never completely stopped their wails of terror... all their victims, the men, women and children that Mr. Sizemore liked to call collateral damage, from their missions in Bosnia, Chechyna, Slovenia and all stops in between. There had only been one brief time when he had truly know any peace and that came only after Larry's "death"...

"Mike, you okay there, dude? If you're determined to stay up, you're gonna have keep that mask on."

Billy's interruption gave the injured spy a chance to quell the voices of the dead which were threatening to tear him from his chosen path. Taking a deep breath, Michael cleared away the last doubts from his mind so he could do what was necessary.

"I'm fine, Billy. I need to speak to Sam. Can you get him for me?"

"I-"

The medic hesitated and Mr Westen, letting his years of training take over, smiled reassuringly.

"Please... I need to see him.. now."

He held the smile in place, doing his best to keep his gaze steady until the medic went through the door and into the tunnel. Then, with grim determination, he hauled himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily as Larry crowed at his victory.

"You know it makes sense. After all, _I am_ the only one who has _ever_ truly understood you. Don't forget, _I'm_ the one who made you the Terror of Kiev... Together we'll do great things, Michael. I mean, if you stay here, what do you think will happen? I've already taken out one bounty hunter. How many more do you think are on their way to Isla Mujeres as we speak? They'll find you in the exact same way as I did. Sam, Fiona, these new friends of yours are all gonna end up dead and it will be _all – your – fault_. But place yourself under my protection and I'll keep you safe."

There had been a time when being safe under the protective wing of his mentor would have meant a lot. He could still feel the pull of it now, especially in his vulnerable state. _Maybe Larry was right about this_... The dark part of his soul yearned for the chance to be free again, to be allowed to act purely on his instincts.

"With me at your side, there's nothing we can't do. I have the will and the skills necessary to keep you safe. I have the money to pay off any doctors you need and I have the contacts to find every single person involved in doing this to you. It will be epic, Kid. We'll burn them all down, leave nothing but their teeth." The older man's pleasure at the thought of this was palpable.

_He liked the sound of that... He had been through so much. Shouldn't the men who did this to him pay the price for their crimes? And Larry always had the best strategies when it came to making a man pay for his transgressions._

It took all his energy, all his remaining will to make his legs obey as he shuffled slowly across the room to the kitchen area. His strength was waning, beads of sweat ran in ever increasing rivelets down his face and over the trembling muscles of his back.

The dark haired spy knew he didn't have long before his strength gave out completely. But this was something he _had_ to do. _It was time to show them all he could look after himself._ _He had been a burden for far too long. _

"Come on, Michael. Get a move on. Just grab the first knife you find."

_Like a knife through hot butter... How many times had he taken his knife, the one Larry had given him as a birthday present, and sliced through another...?_

His hand trembled as it landed on what he had been searching for. It felt so heavy, but it also felt so completely right.

"No – Larry, not a knife." Michael turned around and thrust out the older man's own gun before him, pointing it towards his former mentor with a quaking hand.

"You really – thought – I'd just go – with you?"

"Where else can you go, Kid? Who else is gonna risk their life for _you_?" The older spy looked back at him, disappointment and scorn showing clearly on his features and in the tone of his voice. "I don't see _anybody_ else coming to help you out... Axe and Glenanne are out of their depth with this one."

"Tell – me – who ?" He leaned back against the counter top in an effort to disguise how weak he was becoming.

"Not gonna happen, Kid." Larry shook his head sadly. "Quit screwing around and cut me loose-"

Michael raised the gun, vibrating in his grasp, as he fumbled thumbing back the hammer in preparation to fire. He was clinging on to consciousness solely by the strength of his will and the knowledge that the second he gave up fighting Larry would break free.

**()()**

_BANG!_

The sharp retort of a single gunshot caused the four people already rushing through the narrow tunnel to increase their speed to a sprint.

"Sonuvabitch, Kid! What the hell?!"

Without a thought for his own safety, Sam Axe slammed through the door, sending the reinforced steel crashing back against the plastered rock wall.

"Whoa! Mikey! Easy there, buddy. It's just us."

Sam came to a sudden stop, raising his hands to shoulder height as he found himself staring into the business end of the smoking barrel of a SIG-Sauer P226. He kept his tone light and friendly, all the while praying his best friend was still thinking clearly enough to know who was on his side.

"S-s-am?" Michael slurred, as he aimed loosely in the direction of the newcomers.

"That's right, pal... Say, how about you give me that gun?"

"No." The barrel swung away and back to line up on the man sitting on the floor with a bloody left bicep. "I-I got this."

"I say shoot him again." Fiona added unhelpfully as she stared at their injured prisoner with a bloodthirsty grin lighting up her face.

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?" Larry snarled back.

The bright grin was gone in an instant, replaced by a spiteful glare. "I'd love it, you sick sonuva-"

"Enough!" Sam yelled at the pair, his arm stretching out to block the tiny Irishwoman from attacking the already bleeding prisoner.

"Mikey, brother," Sam changed his tone, speaking softly. "As much as it pains me to say this, we need that bloodsucking cockroach alive."

"No." Michael shook his head, a determined pout forming on his lips as he took aim at his target a second time.

"Hey! Hey!" Sam did his best to get the younger man to concentrate on him rather than on their captive. "Larry has the answers to a lotta questions, Mike. Now, how about you let -" As he spoke, the former naval commander kept edging closer until, in one swift move, he managed to pull the weapon out of the younger man's lax grip. "- me take that from you."

It was as if when Sam stole the gun out of Michael's hand that he also took the last of the younger man's strength. They all watched with horror as the former spy's eyes rolled back and his legs crumpled underneath him. If the ex-SEAL hadn't been standing so close, their friend would have fallen to the floor in a heap.

Catching hold of his best friend around his waist, Sam staggered slightly under the sudden dead weight in his arms. "Okay, buddy, that's you done for the day... Thanks, guys." The last part was directed to the two men who had rushed over to carry the unconscious operative over to his bed.

With his colleague now receiving the medical care he needed, Sam turned his full attention to their prisoner. "Okay, Larry, on your feet."

"The only place I'm going with you is outta this dump." As he spoke the older man was bracing his back against the wall to aid in his efforts to stand. "If you think for one second I'm gonna - _Oooff!_"

The air expelled from his diaphragm as a pain filled gasp when Fiona slipped in closer to the bound and wounded man and used the toe of her shoe to devastating effect at the end of a fast snapping kick to the undead spy's unprotected stomach. Then, before Sam could stop her, she grabbed hold of the assassin's injured arm, causing another yelp of pain.

"Oh, you'll answer tha questions." The ex-terrorist tightened her grip, digging her fingers into the bullet hole. "Cuz, I'm gonna take great delight in dragging every single answer outta ya."

Larry glared back at the younger woman and then, even though he had to be in agony, he laughed in her face.

"You?" he choked the word out. "I admit _you_ have a few rudimentary skills, far more than that wet rag over there... But it's your big brother who always got the answers for your little tribe, wasn't it? _You_ just got pushed to the side to play with the Semtex," he finished with a sneer.

"O-kay, that's enough!" Sam waded in just as Ms. Glenanne responded to Mr. Sizemore's statement with a vicious Belfast kiss. "Fi! Fiona, go help Billy with Mike while me and Jojo deal with this piece of scum."

The auburn haired woman turned around and thrust a rigid finger into Mr. Axe's broad chest, her cheeks flushed with anger and a red mark on her forehead from her last move against their prisoner. "I've got it, Sam... I can handle -"

"Yeah, I believe you, sister. But Mikey needs you more." He fixed his dark brown eyes on where Larry stood slumped against the wall, breathing heavily as he tried to recover from Fiona's assault on him. "Don't worry, Tinkerbell. You'll get your turn, _unless_ Larry decides to surprise the crap outta me and do the right thing."

**()()**

Fiona watched with an expression of deep longing as Sam and Jojo bundled the bloody, undead spy out of the panic room. Sighing, she continued to stare after the trio even after the door had swung closed behind them. She had so many good ideas about how to go about extracting the information they needed from Mr. Sizemore. Sam would want to waste valuable time doing all the psychological stuff he was so fond of using, whereas her methods were more - _inventive_.

She flexed her fingers in frustration. _Oh if she could just convince Sam to leave her alone with the evil sonuvabitch for an hour, she would get him talking. Or screaming, yes screaming would definitely be better._

"Fiona, can you come over here and give me a hand?"

The Irishwoman turned away from her thoughts on what she had planned for Mr. Sizemore and, with a final scowl towards the door, hurried across the room to where Billy was busy hooking Michael up to a drip.

"How is he?" she asked worriedly as she took note of the line going into the back of Michael's hand and the oxygen mask, which was once again covering his mouth and nose.

"Exhausted... He needs some undisturbed rest, and... er," the medic hesitated, nervously pulling his dreadlocks back from his face before continuing. "Look, I – ah... I've sedated him again. Okay, I know we promised him we wouldn't, but he needs the rest and he ain't gonna get it any other way."

The younger woman pursed her lips as she stared down at the peacefully sleeping figure. He had stood up to Larry. That thought alone made her smile. It was a sure sign of how far he had come in his recovery.

"You did the right thing, Billy" Fiona eventually replied as she sunk down on to the edge of the mattress, her fingers gently stroking through her lover's damp tousled hair. "Though you might want to be somewhere else when he wakes up and realizes what you did to him... What else are you giving him?" She nodded to the clear bag hanging off a metal pole beside the bed.

"He hasn't eaten or drank nowhere near enough today. So I've put him on a mixture of vitamins, minerals and salts. It'll keep him going until he wakes up and we can get him eating properly again."

Satisfied that Michael hadn't done himself any extra harm, the auburn haired woman relaxed and turned her attention back to the door which led to the surface. Her protective instincts were urging her to go and search out Larry's location and deal with the cold blooded assassin permanently.

"How long are you planning on keeping him sedated?" she asked.

"I was going to wait and see how he is once he starts coming around. If he can remain calm -"

"Would it hurt him to sleep a little while longer? Until we deal with our Larry problem?"

"No, but -"

That was all Ms Glenanne wanted to hear. "Good, do that." She leaned forward and placed a tender kiss to Michael's forehead and then got to her feet. "While I go and speed things along upstairs."

"Fi, Fiona! I think Sam wanted you to-" Billy called out and then sighed as the steel door swung shut again, leaving him alone with his slumbering patient.

**()()**

When Michael had returned with his sniper rifle unused from his last meeting with his sociopathic former partner, Fiona had been furious. She and Sam had been doing their utmost to protect their client, Jeannie Anderson, from Larry's final attempt on her life; she had even been coerced into using her new paramedic boyfriend and his ambulance in their scheme to fool the wily assassin.

_And all Michael had to do was hide out of sight and shoot the sonuvabitch when he met up with Jeannie's stepson to collect his reward!_ But instead of putting an end to a dangerous hired killer, the dark haired spy had not only allowed his former mentor to walk away, but had also let him take a bag full of blood money with him too.

She had truly wanted to understand his reasoning for letting such a man live. But whenever she'd brought up the subject of Larry Sizemore, Michael had managed to avoid answering her questions. Or if he did let something slip, it was something so vague as to have no meaning.

In the end, she had been forced to do something utterly distasteful to get the answers she required.

She had – Fiona shivered just thinking about it now. She had called Michael's best friend and asked the older man to join her for a drink. Looking back, she realized it had probably been the very first time they had bonded over anything. The ex-terrorist and the former SEAL had joined together in their hatred for their best friend's father figure and mentor, Larry Sizemore.

Sam had told her, unwillingly at first, that Larry had been Michael's first partner after he finished his CIA training. He had spoken about how the young Army Ranger he had first met during a hostage rescue in South America had changed once he was partnered with the Agency's premier wet work specialist.

"Larry is a bad influence... I offered to do the deed, but you know Mike." Sam concluded as he had finished his twelfth bottle of beer. "I tell ya, sister, you spot that bastard, shoot him first and then tell Mikey about it later. You'd be doing us all a huge favor."

After that enlightening evening's conversation, she had given a lot of thought to tracking down Mr. Sizemore and leaving him one of her specialities: a car bomb placed under the driver's seat, wired to the ignition. It had done the trick with a certain money launderer in Belfast; she was sure it would do a similar job on a hired killer in whichever city she found him.

Picking up her speed, the auburn haired Irishwoman reached the surface just as Jojo walked into the laundry room from the kitchen. "Hey, girl, I thought you were staying with your boyfriend?"

"Michael's resting. Where have you and Sam stashed our guest? I have a few questions for him."

She was wasting no time with small talk, not when she had a bag full of surgical implements with Michael's former mentor's name on them.

Jojo half smiled. "Sammy said you'd be on your way up here as soon as you could get away from Mike and Billy. He also said he wanted some time alone with that Larry fella before you turned up and ruined his interrogation."

"Jojo..." She smiled back at the gunrunner, her eyes widening as she waited for him to respond to her silent question.

The dark skinned man sighed. "I left 'em in that old outbuilding next to Trini's chickens... Hey!" He called out after her. "Them birds stop laying, there'll be hell ta pay, missy."

**()()**

The small wooden shack next the wire mesh pen which contained Trini Delaney's chicken coop was old and decaying. It had been Jojo's idea to use it to hold the prisoner, as it was far enough away from the front of the house and the road that any noise wouldn't be heard by anybody visiting or passing by and secondly, as he had plans to knock down the ramshackle shed, there would be no need to worry about cleaning up afterwards.

They had tied their captive securely to a chair Jojo brought from the house and then bolted to the wall. Using a first aid kit, which the gunrunner had picked up from his office at the same time, Sam had set about cleaning up the bloody mess which was the older man's left arm. Then Jojo had decided to go back to the house to check that his family had gotten safely off the island.

Left alone, Sam ripped open the sleeve of Larry's shirt, revealing the nasty looking gunshot wound, which luckily turned out to be more bloody than life threatening. The bullet had torn cleanly through the muscle of the man's limb, missing both bone and artery on its way through.

Cleaning the blood away and disinfecting the injury with half a bottle of cheap whisky had brought forth a stream of foul mouthed curses from the unwilling patient and a grim smile to the lips of the man playing nurse maid.

"You better kill me now, you sonuvabitch, cuz as soon as I get free, I'm gonna -"

"What makes you think I'm just gonna let you go, Lare?" Sam had asked calmly while digging a thick blunt needle into the former spy's flesh as he worked on closing up the bullet torn bicep.

"Face it, Sam, you're not the brains or the brawn of Michael's little team. You -" Larry had barred his teeth in a snarl. "You're just the loser who hangs around -Yeeoww!"

"Gee, sorry about that. I guess I'm not quite the nursemaid you took me for." The former SEAL pulled the surgical thread into a tight knot before applying a thick dressing and wrapping the arm in a bandage.

"There, all done, ya big baby," Sam spoke cheerfully, giving his patient a hearty slap right on the bandage. "Now, we can talk without you whining like some little girl?"

"Aw, Larry isn't gonna talk. At least not straight away." Fiona glided into the room, a soft smile on her lips as she slowly made her way towards her target. "Please tell me yer nae planning on easing yar burden just yet."

Sam only just managed to contain his own grin as the wounded assassin flinched at the touch of the Irishwoman's fingers combing through his hair. "Because I wa' hoping fer tha chance ta show ya exactly whot I learned fram me big brother." Her fingers formed a fist, keeping a tight hold of Larry's short normally immaculately styled hair, holding him still. "Thot's when I warn't off doin' girly stuff like playin' wit' Semtex."

Mr Axe had been hoping to take his own run at breaking the soulless bastard before Ms. Glenanne put in an appearance. But, as he watched the older man pale under the Irishwoman's touch, he realized that a tiny, vindictive pixie with homicidal tendencies was exactly what was called for to gain the cooperation of a murderous sociopath.

"You know something, Larry?" she spoke softly as if imparting a secret. "As much as I hate to admit this, we agree on something."

Mr Sizemore's face betrayed only a flicker of confusion before he schooled his features into that ever-affable smile, which was difficult considering the angle she was holding his head at.

"And what would that be, Fiona?"

"Sam's too soft...you know? I mean, why did he even bother stitching your arm up?" the lithe woman asked before delivering a lightning fast punch to his injury with her free hand, causing her prisoner to curse and the ex-SEAL to flinch.

"I don't think he's even going to have the stomach to watch what comes next," the former terrorist continued in a conversational tone. "So, you know what, Larry? I'm going to let you two say goodbye while I go get my bag. I don't think you'll have the chance later and I'd hate to have Sam miss the opportunity of a proper farewell."

She leaned in closer to her prisoner's ear. "I packed me up some t'ings at tha Zedillos' clinic, some t'ings me brudder taught me thot ar' _very useful _in helpin' people feel cooperative. _Thank ya_ fer havin' me meet ya thar."

Some of Larry's frustration at his situation and his failure to finish her off leaked out between his clenched teeth as he glared daggers at the auburn haired woman who literally had him in her palm.

"I think you'll find it _very_ educational..." Fiona straightened up then and treated the assassin to a spiteful smile. "Fer a wee bit, anyway, then it's jus' gonna be... well, I t'ink yer a smart man, Larry. I'm sure ya kin take me meaning."

And with that, Liam Glenanne's little sister released her hold on the undead spy's mussed hair and sauntered out of the dilapidated building, leaving the two men in the room to stare after her with varying degrees of discomfort and repressed fear on their faces.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, favorites & alerts for this story. Also an extra big thank you to Jedi Skysinger for finding time to BETA this and all my other stories.  
><strong>

**()**

**There is a WARNING attached to this chapter due to the subject matter which I have tried to keep within a T- rating.**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**Chapter Forty Six**

Larry Sizemore shifted as much as the ropes binding him to the chair allowed, his narrowed hate-filled blue eyes focused on the departing figure of his protege's psychotic little girlfriend as she sashayed out of the storage room where he was being held.

For such a tiny thing, Fiona Glenanne certainly had a penchant for mayhem and violence.

Though he would never publicly admit it, in the privacy of his own thoughts he was impressed by the tiny terrorist's skills. She had managed to free herself from the restraints in the clinic, then had disarmed his necklace bomb from about Pilar Zedillo's throat and done it all while recovering from the blow he had delivered to her temple and what he suspected from the bandaged hand was a dislocated thumb.

If things had been different, if he'd had the resources back when his protege had first met the youngest Glenanne sibling, he could have used her to keep Michael in line. The assassin smiled at the thought.

It was unfortunate that by the time he had truly got to know all about the _Irish colleen _and her family, it had been too late for him to drop in and take control of the situation. In his own defense, he had only been dead for a year and hadn't had the time to build up the network he now controlled. Instead he had been forced to use a variety of methods to pass a rumor along to a certain CIA training officer that his one-time star pupil was about to go native and become tarnished beyond repair.

The growing pain radiating from his mangled bicep reminded the injured assassin of how he had ended up in his present predicament. Michael Westen, the man he had at great personal expense come to protect from the very powerful people his former protege had somehow pissed off, had repaid his kindness with a bullet.

Larry pushed down both the emotional pain of the betrayal and the physical discomfort of his injuries. Because over riding all the pain and the vindictive fury flowing through his veins was conclusive evidence that he had been right to come to the aid to his ex-junior partner, as finally, _finally his kid_ had quit hiding behind the façade of good little boy scout and had reverted back to his true self, acting on his instincts.

Yes, Michael _had _shot him, but the younger man hadn't killed him. All in all, Larry took it as a good sign and, in time after a certain about pain and suffering had been inflicted, he would forgive the kid for his rashness.

Though it went against his natural inclination, the assassin was willing to accept partial blame for his situation. He should have steered clear of any comments about Axe and the girlfriend. He had read all of Viktor Markov's reports to Oscar Strauss and knew the interrogator had tried to convince Michael that he was broken and totally alone in the world: that Glenanne, upon losing her American lover, had become a hardcore radical capable of killing children to further her cause and that Axe, instead of being a bleeding heart nursemaid, had in fact been a by-the-book SEAL commander who had reported his young CIA contact numerous times for his unconventional approach to their shared missions.

It was thinking about the wet rag and how often the military man had interfered for real in his own intelligence operations which reminded the cold-hearted killer that Sam Axe was still in the room and had apparently been talking to him for some time.

" - what's right."

The assassin barred his teeth in a confident smile. "Sorry, Sam, I have a habit of tuning out irritating noises. What did you say?"

"Just keep up that attitude, fella, and you'll make Fiona's day - well, week actually. She's been a might tense ever since we got Mikey back. You shoulda seen what she did to Markov..." Mr. Axe laughed mirthlessly. "Then again, I think you're in for an up close and personal repeat performance. She really doesn't like you, Larry, so I think she might have something special planned for ya."

"We'll have to see, won't we, Sam? Because so far I'm not impressed. Michael needs me if he wants to live. Let's face it, everybody knows _you _don't have the - _necessary_ capacity for bloodshed."

"What can I say, Lare? Unlike you, I don't need to randomly sacrifice innocent lives just to get the job done and feel good about myself." Sam paused and took a deep breath before taking a more conciliatory approach. "Look, if you care about Mike as much as you claim, why keep playing this game? Just tell us what you know... We all want the same thing here."

The assassin snorted in disbelief. "Oh please, we've _never _wanted the same thing, Sam."

"You think killing -"

"Yes, Sam, and so will Michael, once he's feeling better."

"Oh, I think Mike has already come to his senses – he shot you."

"_This_? This is nothing, little more than a graze. That was just his way of warning me to back off. He'll come around to my way of thinking... He always does," Mr. Sizemore smirked.

"Mikey isn't the same guy you worked with Larry. He got his soul back years ago."

"Keep telling yourself that, Axe. We _both_ know _exactly _what Michael is capable of doing when he sets his mind to it."

The former SEAL moved to stand in front of his prisoner. Larry Sizemore had been a like an itch he couldn't scratch from that first assignment together in Bolivia and had only worsened over the years.

On their second meeting, which occurred in another country just over a year after their first mission, the spy had delivered the news of a gathering taking place involving several high ranking terrorists. The killer's intel had been good; however, what he had failed to mention before the missiles were launched and the ground force of SEALs had been sent in to mop up any survivors was that the meeting was being held during a birthday celebration for one their target's youngest son.

It had been another occasion where the mission had been deemed a success by some, as two high ranking dangerous terrorists had been neutralized, but a total and utter failure by those who had been there to witness the massacre which had included so many small children. And _that_ was all _before_ the bloodthirsty ghoul had become known as the CIA's premier wet work specialist.

Without conscious effort, former Commander Axe's hands formed meaty fists. The desire to pound on the grinning devil before him was becoming almost too much to resist.

"Aww, what's the matter, Sammy? That boy scout honor of yours getting in the way of what you _really _want to do?" The soulless former spy goaded his captor. "Why don't you go and find yourself a bottle of cheap alcohol to crawl into... Or, I know, take a drive into town. There were plenty of rich widows on that boat I came over on. Go mooch off one of them."

Much to the ex-operative's annoyance, the former SEAL suddenly relaxed and took several steps back, a smile coming to the younger man's face as he wagged a finger.

"Oh no, Lare, you're not drawing me into your little game. Not when Fiona is gonna be back in here soon with her little bag of tricks... See, I'm not quite the boy scout you think I am, cuz getting the answers we need to protect _our _friend is far more important than my weak stomach."

"And what makes you think spilling my blood is gonna make me tell you anything useful?" Larry's blue eyes narrowed as the lazy, drink-sodden former Navy man and all round boy scout backed out of the room.

"You know, you're right... Keep your mouth shut, show us all how brave and tough you are." Sam paused as the door swung open and a small redhead carrying a surgeons bag stepped through. "Oh, look who's here... Fi, I'm gonna wait outside. Larry, I'd like to say it's been great knowing you. But we both know that would be a lie."

**()()**

Ms. Glenanne walked confidently into the shack carrying her bag of surgical implements gingerly in her bandaged hand and gripping a small folding table in the other. She had taken her time preparing for this moment, not only making sure she had all the tools she needed and something to display them on, but also with her appearance. Her long auburn hair was tied up out of the way and she had borrowed a set of dark colored overalls to protect her limited supply of clothes.

Humming tunelessly, she set up the table next to the prisoner and then began to take great care laying out the contents of the bag. A selection of scalpels, forceps, clamps, several curettes, a bone saw, a bone mallet and, of course, a bone cutter were laid out in neat rows. The redhead pursed her lips as she ran her fingers lightly over the equipment she had taken from the Zedillo's clinic.

Selecting one of the scalpels, the one with the longest blade, she held it up, letting the sunlight creeping in through the gaps in the wooden walls to dance off the shiny device designed to slice through flesh. _Could she do it?_ _Slice open a man in cold blood?_ An involuntary shiver ran down the Irishwoman's spine as a long hidden memory sprung into her mind, playing out in techicolor and surround sound.

_She was back there, twenty five years old filled with impatience and a burning need for revenge. Her baby sister had been in her grave for a whole month and they still hadn't gotten around to making the soldiers responsible pay. She could feel the cold, the cloying smell of decay which had filled her nostrils, the dust and the mold in the air which had caught in the back of her throat, making her want to cough. But mostly she remembered the sounds coming through the partially opened door to the room where her brother worked to get her the answers she had demanded._

_Liam's soft conversational tones, talking about death and mutilation in the same way most people discussed the weather. The harsh incomprehensible moans of the army captain they had kidnapped and the rattling of the chains holding him and then a sharp high pitched shriek following by a wet slithering sound and a heavy splat._

_That was the day that she had learned all the rumors that she'd heard about what her brother did were true._

"Really, Fiona, I think this act of yours has gone quite far enough. Admittedly, you've got a strong stomach for violence which is quite impressive in a woman, but torture – no, I don't think so, sweetheart."

At his words, she placed the cutting tool back amongst its friends and turned her attention to the man tied in the chair. Letting her gaze travel slowly over his frame, making a mental note of his injuries, she smiled sweetly.

"Ya don't think women have what's necessary ta hurt another?... You're a lucky man, never to have come across me Auntie Claire. Now there's a woman who knows her way around a car battery and a set of jump leads."

He laughed at her, a cold callous sound filled with spite. "Oh, you don't have to tell me about your family. I make a point of knowing my enemies and you, my dear, for all your talent for ending lives, are not known for getting up close and personal when doing the deed... You like to stay detached from your targets, don't you? Bombs or shooting from a distance is more your line of expertise isn't it, little girl? How often have you gotten your hands well and truly bloody?"

A lightening fast punch mashed the former spy's lips against his teeth, destroying his million dollar smile in an instant, and a fraction of a second later, the heel of a heavy boot stamped down on the top of his foot, breaking several small bones in the process.

Fiona's renown fiery temper was blazing more fiercely than it had done for years. Reaching out, her hand closed about the same scalpel that she had held up to the light earlier and, in a continuation of the move, she took hold of the spy's head with the other hand and pressed the tip of the blade under the bleeding man's left eye socket.

"Is this bloody enough fer yar?" she snarled. "Or d'ya want me ta carry on wit' me demonstration?"

Larry gagged and swallowed. "You think you can make me talk before you kill me?"

"No, Larry..." She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "I couldnae care less if ya talk or nae. When I wa' gettin' ready fer our chat, I realized whot a gift ya've handed me. I'm gonna kill ya slow, cuz ya deserve it, and then am gonna tell Sam am terribly sorry, but I couldnae break ya and it would be fer tha best if we take Michael inta hiding a long, long way away from har."

Watching the older man pale and seeing tiny beads of sweat mingle with the blood dripping from the under the point of the blade warmed the heart of the auburn haired woman no end.

She ran her tongue over her lips before giving her victim the rest of the bad news in a soft sultry tone.

"I wanta thank ya... Ya'll _never _get tha chance ta pour yar poison in Michael's ear _ever _again. I'll keep him safe wit' me forever."

"Stop! Wait, a god damn second," he gasped. "You think he'll thank you for that? Treating him like a child."

She cocked her head to the side, and removed the blade from under his eye. "Only 'til he is fully recovered and then _we'll _be the ones hunting down every single one o' the bastards while you - you'll just be nothin' but ashes floating on the breeze..." Then, tapping the flat of the blade on the tip of her prisoner's nose, she spoke again. "O' course thot's only after I get ta have me fun."

"You have no idea what you're doing." The bloody and beaten spy barred his shattered teeth in a painful grin.

"Yer right. I have no idea what am doing. I'm nae tha expert ya ar'. I nae – "

The words trailed off and Fiona backed off a step as she remembered all the things Sam had told her about Michael's old mentor and father figure. The blade sliced through the buttons on his bloodied garment, exposing his white undershirt.

"But you'll discover I'm a _real fast_ learner."

**()()**

"_- . Bombs or shooting from a distance is more your line of expertise isn't it, little girl? How often have you gotten your hands well and truly bloody?"_

Sam stopped his pacing back and forth between the shack and Trini's chicken run, wincing at the words which were coming out of the assassin's mouth. Larry was just begging for a ...

The sound of fist landing on flesh told the former SEAL that his best friend's girl was just getting started on dealing with her issues regarding undead spies attempting to corrupt her vulnerable boyfriend.

"_Is this bloody enough fer ya? Or d'ya want me ta carry on wit' me demonstration?"_

"_You think you can make me talk before you kill me?"_

Sam sighed and stared down at the hard packed dirt beneath his feet. He had never been fond of torture as an interrogation method, regardless of how much the person deserved it.

He cocked his head to the side as it went quiet inside the shack. _Had she already killed him?_

"_You have no idea what you're doing."_

_Oh no, now he was just taunting her, not a good idea..._ Shaking his head, Sam reached for the door his hand closing on the handle. Maybe he should stop it, before Tinkerbell got too carried away.

"_Yer right. I have no idea what am doing. I'm nae tha expert ya ar'. I nae –- But you'll discover I'm a real fast learner." _Fiona's voice filtered through the broken down walls of the dilapidated out building.

"_How about when I get free, I pay a visit to your old homeland and -" _Whatever Larry had been about to say was cut off mid sentence, as the sound of bone crunching was followed by a growl of pain forced out through clenched teeth.

The former SEAL's hand dropped back to his side. After the undead spy's threat to Ms. Glenanne's family, there was no way apart from physically picking up the Irishwoman and carrying her out of the hovel kicking and screaming that he would be able to bring a halt to what was happening inside.

"_I'd like ta see ya try it, especially on thot leg."_

Commander Axe decided he had heard enough, turning away from the shack and the sounds coming from inside he walked away, strolling towards the edge of the Delaney's property. Reaching the waist high stone wall which marked the perimeter, Sam stopped to stare out at the dark ocean below letting the sound of the waves lapping on the shore soothe his nerves while he tried to come up with a better strategy than the one that they were using now.

Larry Sizemore was basically a self-centered psychopath, who only ever thought of himself. He would never succumb to any of the conventional means of interrogation. The older man was too well trained and, while he believed he held some sort of advantage by not talking, he would keep his mouth closed.

The ex-commander let his thoughts run through everything he knew about how the older spy worked. There had to be a clue hidden in the past which would lead to something they could use in the present to their own advantage. He just had to figure out what it was that Larry desired more than getting his control back over his injured protege.

A loud cursed filled shriek drifted across the open space from the shanty along with the startled protests of Trini's chickens caused Sam to tense and his features to harden. He needed to come up with something fast because it sounded like Tinkerbell had been serious about her plans for Mikey's former partner.

It was a shame he didn't know which members of the KGB old guard were hiding out in Cuba. Because there had to be a long line of former soviets who would like a piece of Mr. Sizemore, even if at first they didn't recognize the name of the American agent who had been working against them. The wily former SEAL smiled and turned away from the sea as an idea began form.

_Anonymity! _That was what Larry valued more than anything else in the world. All spies moved in the shadows, they weren't supposed to be seen. The best ones could sneak in to a location, blending seamlessly into the background while they committed a little bit of sabotage or stole secrets.

Larry though had always taken his anonymity to the next level. He had faked his death and managed to remain a ghost for more than ten years and he had done it by killing everybody he saw as a threat. Yet, by the law of averages, there had to be someone the paranoid assassin had missed. There had to be somebody still alive who would be happy to have the former spy turned assassin delivered gift wrapped.

Sam reached the steps leading up to the house, eager to debrief the best source of information on which soviet intelligence officer's name would guarantee the assassin's cooperation when he came to an abrupt halt. Mikey was in no condition to help anybody. The younger man had been sedated in an effort to keep him quiet and far away from his old mentor.

Closing his eyes, Sam let his mind drift. _Just for once why couldn't something go their way?_

Without Michael's help he was going to have to come up with something on his own._ Maybe it didn't have to be somebody who had had direct contact with the Lord of the Undead. Maybe he just needed someone high up in the KGB or GRU who could have possibly have retired to the Island of Cuba who would be interested in the kudos of capturing a former high level American spy._

The smile came back; he had a name:_ Colonel Ivan Prokov_. He didn't know if Larry had had any direct dealings with the disgraced Russian officer, but Prokov had at one time been high up in the KGB until he and Mike had made the man look a fool during an extraction mission which at first had gone completely sideways and had almost gotten the ex-SEAL killed.

There was a good chance the assassin would know of the man as, until he had been made to look like an unreliable drunken fool, Prokov had held a high ranking post in the Russian counter intelligence organization. _If he could convince Larry that Prokov was in Cuba and they were going to sell him to the Russian..._ Commander Axe left the thought hanging as he rushed swiftly towards the shack and threw open the door.

The sight which greeted his eyes nearly caused him to back straight out of the door.

He had worked closely with Ms. Glenanne for three years. He had glanced through her Interpol file before Mike had gone to Ireland and then read through it completely when he had discovered exactly how attached his best friend was to the female terrorist. He knew the Irishwoman had an upbringing marred by blood and violence as well as a mean streak a mile wide... but he had never suspected _this_.

Blood... there was _a lot_ of blood... and not only on the prisoner. He had seen some _really ugly_ things in his lifetime, but he never thought...The former SEAL blinked and when he opened his eyes again, he swallowed and studied the scene before him. The spy turned assassin had taken one hell of a beating: two black eyes, a broken nose, split lips, a trickle of blood was leaking from the older man's left ear. But those injuries were obviously just the warm up as far as Michael's psycho girlfriend was concerned. She had set to work with the surgical tools...

"Jesus, Fi!" Sam exclaimed. "What the blue blazes-?"

"_Get out!" _the Irishwoman snarled. "This is between me and this - _animal_."

Her blue-green eyes narrowed and were filled with a burning hate such as he had never seen before, even during the early days of their collaboration when he had been sure she'd been plotting his demise. As much as Larry deserved to meet his end at the hands of someone _well capable_ of delivering the suffering he had earned, they needed his intel more.

_You owe me, Mikey._..Sam thought as he prepared to face down the blood thirsty banshee.

**()()**

Larry tried to raise his head, but the effort involved was too much for the undead assassin. A possible broken jaw... he was definitely going to require a lot of dental work after he killed the Irish bitch and the drunken lush.

The sight of Michael's wet nurse entering the room cheered the beaten killer up no end. _Who knew that that wisp of a girl packed a punch like a construction worker? But now Sam had made an appearance, he was pretty sure the former SEAL's bleeding heart would put an end to the redhead's assault... Oh, he was going to make the cunt suffer for what she'd done_. The ex-spy comforted himself with his plans for Ms. Glenanne. _He'd make her beg for death._

"Enough, Fi... We need him able to talk, remember?"

Larry dragged his thoughts from his plans for the future to what was happening in the present. _Axe was doing just what he expected._ The self righteous tones of the Boy Scout filled the small room.

"Need him? D'ya really think he's gonna tell us anything useful? Yer an idiot, Sam!"

"I think you've managed to soften him up enough." Sam avoided wincing looking over the carnage she had committed, but just barely. "Dead men tell no tales. We need to know who's coming after Mikey and I'm sure Larry's feeling more cooperative now, aren't you, Lare?"

"I've got a better idea..." and the bloodied surgical knife began to move towards him again.

"Back off, Tinkerbell, and let me try."

"Fine!" the psycho pixie spat, burying the blade into the broad muscle across his thigh as pain burned through Mr. Sizemore's body. "But when ya get nowhere, yer gonna let me finish it."

With his vision fading in and out and his ability to think clearly almost gone, the wet work specialist barely heard the door to the shack slam shut.

"Hey, Lare, you still awake there, fella?"

The scent of the wet rag's aftershave invading his disfigured nasal cavities caused the battered assassin to force his swollen eyelids to open and as he tried to focus on the face of his captor. The slight groan which escaped between his lips as the knife was removed from his leg and returned to the table, obviously satisfied the Boy Scout that his prisoner was paying attention.

"I've been thinking things through and you're right. I really _don't_ have the stomach for all this torture business. But that doesn't mean Fiona isn't gonna touch you again, so don't think this lets you off the hook, fella. You see, I figure it's gonna take a lot of money for the three of us to go on the run permanently, especially as we don't know whose coming after us... Sooo, I've put out the word to a coupla Russians I know who are cooling their heels over in Cuba that I have somebody they might be interested in."

The former spy's blood ran cold and he pushed away all the pain and tiredness to concentrate fully on what the cowardly sonuvabitch was saying.

"I don't know if the name Colonel Ivan Prokov means anything to you, but the old guy is _real_ interested in getting his hands on you... Something about turning in Larry Sizemore to his old masters will return his reputation? You get the idea? Add a few more rubles to his pension."

For the first time, Larry was thankful that the bitch had beaten his features into a bloody mess as he was sure that the boy scout would be unable to read his expression.

_What the hell had made the nurse maid pull that name out of the air? Did he know? _Larry felt the return of ice to his veins. _If Axe did know the truth, it was all over._ There was no way even that lily-livered wet rag would let bygones be bygones, not after what he did that time.

Using the last reserves of his strength, Larry willed himself to pay attention. If Axe was aware that when his last assignment in Russia failed it was because a voice reaching out from a supposed grave to inform the GRU that a SEAL and a CIA agent were about to steal valuable intel and a turncoat aide from right under the nose of one of their top colonels, then he would end his days in the vengeful clutches of Fiona Glenanne... _But if Axe didn't know... Not yet..._

Ignoring the pain it caused, Larry lifted his chin off his chest and looked his old enemy in the eye. His plan to have Lieutenant Commander Axe meet a grisly end at the hands of the Russian military intelligence had come very close to succeeding. The CIA drone the SEAL had been working with was dead, and his foe had been running out of room to hide when the unexpected arrival of Michael Westen on the scene had changed everything. Mr. Sizemore had no idea how they did it, but over the space of a few weeks the pair had managed to convince the GRU that the Colonel was a drunk suffering from alcohol induced hallucinations.

"Wha' d'ya wan'?" he managed to slur the question out from his torn lips.

_This was about survival..._ He would do whatever he had to to avoid being handed over like a prize to a country which he had spent a good part of his life fighting a cold war. Even if it meant for the time being he had to make this drunken fool believe he had won.

"We want everything you have on the man who is gunning for Mike. You try any tricks and I'll give you back to Fi and, when she's done with you, I will hand you over to Prokov."

"Deal," the bloodied assassin agreed.

He'd tell them it all, dragging it out as long as he could... until he was back to his old self and then, when he was ready to strike, he would make _every..._ _single_... _one_ of them pay dearly.


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: **Thank you all for your kind reviews, favs, alerts & most of all for your patience while waiting for me to update. I promise that I will be completing all my stories, it just might take me some time.

The final chapter of** Behind Blue Eyes **will be posted in the next couple of weeks, and as I will be watching lots of Season Seven for inspiration there will possibly be another chapter of** Pale Imitation **following not long afterwards (I'm not afraid to admit to still having some Carlos issues every time I watch certain episodes.) **  
><strong>

Another big thank you goes out to my friend, the brilliant **Jedi Skysinger** for not only her help and BETA skills with all my stories but as my co-author as **Jedi's Pal**.

Lastly and far from least, a massive shout out goes out to all the Burners on Twitter. Thank you for all the retweets, favs & the support you show for all my stories and **Jedi's Pal.**

I'm sorry I'm unable to join you at **Burner Club** on Thursday evenings but for me, over in the UK, it is far too late for me to stay up, but I do love to check out the Tweets Friday morning.

Okay on to the story, I hope you all enjoy the extra long chapter.

**()()**

**DODGING RAINDROPS**

**Chapter Forty Seven**

With her arms wrapped tightly about her body in an attempt to keep the blood that had soaked her clothes and covered her exposed skin from marking the floors or walls of her hosts' Caribbean home, Fiona Glenanne made her way through the single-storey house to her guest room.

_Larry Sizemore had seemed more amused than frightened when she had lovingly laid out the tools she had collected from the Zedillo's clinic. "Oh, you don't have to tell me about your family. I make a point of knowing my enemies and you, my dear, for all your talent for ending lives, are not known for getting up close and personal when doing the deed... You like to stay detached from your targets, don't you? Bombs or shooting from a distance is more your line of expertise, isn't it, little girl? How often have you gotten your hands well and truly bloody?"_

She shivered, the tremor running right down the length of her spine. The worst of it was that the evil bastard had been right… well, half right. There had been occasions in the past when the luxury of a bomb or the opportunity to use her sharpshooter skills had been unavailable and, in the heat of the moment, she hadn't hesitated to get her hands _well and truly bloody_ as Larry had called it.

The first time had been foiling an attempted kidnapping by members of the Ulster Defense volunteers, fighting like a crazed banshee until she had managed to free a hand and bring out her little snub nosed revolver. She had gone home triumphant that night with the blood of her enemy on her jacket and in her hair.

And a few years later when she had been working for her lover Armand, the sale of large shipment of RPGs had gone wrong. The buyer, an Algerian warlord, had fallen to her knife blade after mistaking her sex and delicate appearance for a sign of weakness and had thought he could get away with using force to take what he should have been paying for.

On both occasions she had acted instinctively to survive, the years of training her brothers had drilled into her had taken her attackers by surprise and afterwards she had walked away feeling nothing other than happy for being the one still alive. But what she had just done hadn't been an impulsive act to save her own life; it had been a cold calculated piece of strategy aimed at protecting the man she loved.

_"I couldnae care less if ya talk or nae."_ She had whispered in the assassin's ear, the fact that her native accent had come back so strongly was a sure sign how angry she had been. _"When I wa' gettin' ready fer our chat, I realized whot a gift ya've handed me. I'm gonna kill ya slow, cuz ya deserve it, and then Am gonna tell Sam Am terribly sorry, but I couldnae break ya and it would be fer tha best if we take Michael inta hiding a long, long way away from har."_

Before Michael had disappeared, their relationship, which had heated up after his rapid descent from Management's helicopter, had once again begun to cool as he turned his focus on to the search for a way back in to his old government job.

_"I wanta thank ya... Ya'll __never __get tha chance ta pour yar poison in Michael's ear __ever __again. I'll_ _keep him safe wit' me forever."_

_"Stop! Wait a god damn second... You think he'll thank you for that? Treating him like a child."_

And while the burned spy had set about clearing a path, so he would be free to hunt down the contacts he needed to find his way back into the ungrateful arms of the CIA, she had begun to think that staying in Miami was a mistake. As the Irishwoman came to realize that Michael Westen, ex-agent, would _never_ commit to her the way she wanted him to, at least not while there was a slim chance of getting what _he_ desperately wanted. She blinked away a tear.

"_If you truly care about me, you should damn well want for me what I want for myself."_

His words that evening had burned like fire, searing her heart, so much so that she had even taken the risk of calling home to speak with her mother back in Ireland, a first important step in making peace with her family for the things she had done before being forced to flee the Emerald Isle.

_"Only 'til he is fully recovered and then __we'll __be tha ones hunting down every single one o' tha bastards while ya - ya'll just be nothin' but ashes floating on tha breeze...O' course thot's only after I get ta have me fun."_

But then before she'd had the chance to build up the courage to finally break the ties that bound them together, the former spy had disappeared without a trace and it had been over the following four soul destroying weeks, as she and Sam had desperately searched for him, that she finally accepted there was no place she wanted to be other than standing beside Michael Westen.

Reaching her bedroom door, the petite former paramilitary paused, unwrapping her arms from about her waist. She stared down at the blood still staining her hands and ingrained under her fingernails and then turned her gaze to the pristine white door and its gold plated handle. After a moment's thought, she used her least soiled elbow to operate the lever and entered her private sanctuary.

_"Jesus, Fi! What the blue blazes-?"_

_"__Get out! __This is between me and this – __animal__."_

Fiona swallowed thickly as she remembered the look of disgust on Sam Axe's face when he had come barging into the shack which she had turned into her own personal torture chamber.

_"Enough, Fi... We need him able to talk, remember?"_

Talking hadn't been part of _her_ agenda; all she had been thinking about was what Larry had put the Zedillos through and what he had planned for Michael. She had been vengeance personified, no one, especially not a piece of slime like Larry Sizemore, was ever going to harm _her_ man again.

Fiona remembered when she had crawled onto the bed, back at Veronica's beach house, and pulled the sweating, shaky skeletal figure into her arms. At the time, the ex-operative had been almost out of his mind, caught in the throes of withdrawal from all the drugs his captors had pumped into him during the month he had been gone. But as soon as they had made eye contact, he stopped fighting and when he had reached out, his fingers tentatively exploring her features, she could have cried.

_"You..."_ he'd murmured.

_"Me. Do you recognize me?"_

He had captured several strands of her hair before answering.

"_Fiona, my Fiona..."_

And then later, before he succumbed to painkilling drugs Billy had injected into his arm, _her_ Michael had cradled her cheek in his hand and pleaded, _"…Stay with me."_

She'd seen love in his eyes that day. Fiona had seen into his heart and had known without a doubt that, for better or worse, their fates were entwined.

Walking straight through the bedroom, the bloodied ex-terrorist entered the en suite. Standing on the tiled floor, she kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned the overalls she had put on to protect her clothes. Letting the ruined clothing fall to the floor, the petite woman reached into the shower and turned the tap to send rapidly warming water cascading down.

_"Back off, Tinkerbell, and let me try."_

_"Fine! But when ya get nowhar, yer gonna let me finish it."_

Fiona had been furious about Sam Axe's interruption as she had set about teaching the murderous undead spy about the real meaning of pain. The man was a ghoul; he would kill anybody as long as the money was right and it was obvious to her that the only reason Larry crawled out of his coffin was he had seen his chance to corrupt his former apprentice while Michael was so vulnerable.

Having removed the rest of her clothing and discarded the soiled bandage which had been supporting her sore thumb, the vengeful fury entered the stream of hot water and closed her eyes while the almost burning liquid washed away the blood and relaxed her aching muscles.

_"D'ya really think he's gonna tell us anything useful? Yer an idiot, Sam!"_

She coughed and wiped a now thankfully clean hand over her eyes. The ex-spy's best friend had just made things more difficult, but it wouldn't stop her from doing whatever was necessary to make sure Michael was kept out of harm's way. One way or another, Larry Sizemore was going to die.

**()()**

The former army physician, Billy Clemens, moved determinedly around the subterranean panic room, checking and then rechecking his supplies all the while keeping one eye on his still slumbering patient.

After a dishonorable discharge that ended a career which had come close to driving him insane, he had spent the last ten years happily drifting along living on one of the smaller less inhabited islands off the Florida coastline while making a living fixing up the criminal element who plied their trade around the Gulf of Mexico. Gone were the high and tight haircuts and the precisely pressed uniforms, replaced by rumpled shirts, cargo shorts and mountains of blonde dread locks and scruff.

Then two weeks ago, he had been dragged away from his home on Sugarloaf Key in the dead of night by an auburn haired spitfire with a reputation for bloodshed and mayhem. He had found himself thrust unwillingly into a chaotic nightmare involving an armed assault by a Russian interrogator and his team of FSB agents, narrowly avoiding a drone strike on a luxurious beach house on Key West and then a swift boat ride across the Gulf of Mexico as a guest of one of south Florida's premier smugglers to an island hideaway, which unfortunately hadn't remained a secret for long enough to get them all to somewhere ultimate safe.

And all the while they were dodging Russians, military grade weapons, the Coast Guard and riding out a storm at sea, he'd had the job of caring for a man who should have died at least five times over.

Of course, the boyfriend of the infamous Ms. Glenanne had not only refused to die, but had also refused follow medical advice. For every two steps forward, the infuriating man made towards recovery, Michael Westen would nearly kill himself doing something utterly reckless. Well, in the last twenty four hours he had taken about all the craziness he could handle.

_He was supposed to be retired, dammit!_

The medic scowled and took a long slow look around Jojo Delaney's subterranean panic room. He missed staying in bed until mid-day, and then spending his waking hours swimming in the warm sea or lying in a hammock with just his beer and smokes for company_._ Over the last decade, he'd had no responsibilities and hadn't formed a single attachment to another human being. The people who usually turned up at his door requiring treatment were patched up and sent on their way as quickly as possible. He'd had no wish to hear about their hopes and dreams or about their partners or kids. In fact, he had always done his best not to talk to them at all; after all they were paying for his skills and his discretion, not for his bedside manner. In his trade, a spotty memory was always preferable.

Then he had unwillingly found himself thrust back in what could only be described as another combat situation and quite against his will, he was finding himself beginning to actually care about his patient. Michael Westen was beating the odds by sheer pig-headedness and that stubborn determination to survive had sparked something in the long-dead heart of the medic. Billy wanted the spy to live, to recover, being whoever he had been before the man had been brutalized and, after the day they'd just had, from now on he was going to do his damnedest to see that it happened.

Remembering his patient's penchant for ripping out , the medic had removed the line feeding nutrients into the man's ravaged body as soon as the bag had emptied and now he was stuck waiting nervously for Fiona Glenanne's boyfriend to come around from the sedatives which kept the damn man resting.

Opening the door which covered the entrance to the tunnel leading out to a cave and the ocean beyond, Billy lit up a cigarette and drew in a deep lungful of nicotine before letting it out in a perfect _O_ while he tried to prepare himself for what he suspected was going to be a long painful discussion.

**()()**

Michael slowly edged his way back to consciousness; his body felt much like it had when he'd woken up in the cheap Miami motel two years earlier. Beaten to a pulp in a Nigerian hotel room, he'd escaped only to be woken up days later by the booted foot of Fiona Glenanne.

Groaning softly, his eyes flickered open and closed and open again, finally managing to focus on the dull white of the ceiling. Running the tip of his tongue over his dry lips, he began the torturous process of sifting through his maddeningly mixed-up memories.

_Larry... Larry Sizemore... He had shot Larry..._ Gasping he pushed through the pain and attempted to sit up. _Larry wasn't dead... His former mentor was alive and had been right there in front of him._

He barely got his head off the pillow before falling back as a wave of dizziness nearly sent him back into unconsciousness. Breathing heavily and fighting a rising tide of nausea, he rolled onto his side. The room swam and he closed his eyes, trying to fight back the urge to vomit.

"Fi! Fi-ona!" He wanted to shout, but his voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

"Easy, Mike…"

A hand landed on his shoulder and he felt the touch of hard plastic under his chin just in time as his body convulsed and bile rose up into throat. Lying back gasping, he kept his eyes closed as a welcoming cool damp cloth was wiped over his forehead and neck, offering sweet relief as he broke out in a sweat.

As it finally penetrated his befuddled brain that the person tending to him was not small and feminine, Michael's red rimmed eyes snapped open.

"Fiona? Where's Fi? La-larry's here. I- I remember Larry, I -" A wave of panic rose up and threatened to overwhelm him as he began to babble. _Somewhere close by a monster was loose and about to destroy his friends._

"Mike, Larry isn't here. You're safe, you're safe dude... hey, hang on, let me empty this, then I'll help you sit up... Okay, Mike? Don't try to move until I get back, 'kay."

The voice of the medic and the touch of his hand squeezing his arm set off a new chain of thought for the panicked ex-spy, reminding him of the last time he had woken up feeling disorientated with a mouth which felt like it was full of cotton wool. _They had drugged him – Again! _Clenching his jaw, Michael tried once again to sit up. _W__as he the only one who realized how much danger they were all in while Larry Sizemore was still alive?_

"Hey, that's enough!" The doctor was back at his side in an instant, pushing him flat against the mattress.

The bleary blue eyes narrowed, all his fears about his former mentor dropping away as his resentment and paranoia centered on the dread-locked medic who, just like his tormentor Dr. Vincent, was trying to keep him drugged and helpless.

"Lemme go!" he hissed angrily as he fought to knock the blonde's hands away.

But this time Billy wasn't backing down. He had been preparing himself for this showdown ever since he removed the I.V catheter from his patient's arm and made sure there were no sharp objects or anything else nearby which could be turned into a lethal weapon in range of the former operative's still highly dangerous hands.

"No, not this time, man, this time you're going to listen to me." He firmly pushed the dark haired invalid down until the frail man was once more lying flat in the bed. "I _can't_ keep putting you back together."

"I'm fine." Michael continued to struggle for a few seconds. But there was a grim determination about the medic's actions and in the end he had no choice but to surrender. "I-I just need to -"

"No, you're not _fine _and what you_ need_ to do is lie still and quit fighting my orders... That is if you _ever_ want to get better." Billy released his hold on the younger man's shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Westen remained horizontal, glaring up at him from upon the bed.

Standing upright again, the former Army medic folded his arms over his chest and fixed a stern eye on his patient, waiting to see how Michael was going to respond to his new tough approach.

"Okay then." Billy began to pace rapidly beside the bed as he ticked off his complaints.

"For one thing, physically all that I know _for sure_ is wrong with you, aside from some minor cuts and contusions, is a bad case of dehydration and malnutrition, both of which _can and_ _will kill you_ unless you get some rest and eat and drink when you're told... You might not feel hungry, but you _seriously_ need the calories, dude. As for drinking, you aren't taking in anywhere near enough fluids. Do you want your kidneys to fail, huh? Cuz that's what's gonna happen _and happen soon_ if you keep tryin' to run on empty without sucking down enough water." He paused again and was pleased to see that finally his unwilling patient seemed to be taking him seriously.

The dark haired man nodded, swallowed and then answered, but his voice was still low and husky. "Okay, I get it. I need to eat, drink and sleep when I'm told." Even as he acknowledged the facts, there was a part of Michael that was fighting what he knew to be true. _Where were Sam and Fi?_

"That's right," Mr. Clemens agreed. "Glad we're finally getting somewhere. You do as you're told and I won't have to stick you with any more needles."

"Deal," Michael replied softly. Part of his brain recalled that they'd already made that bargain once and was screeching at him not to trust the older man. But there was another part of him that reminded the former operative that he had been the one to violate the agreement first. Besides, arguing with Billy was not going to get him the information he so desperately needed that moment.

With great effort, the dishevelled dark haired man struggled back into a sitting position. "The guy who was here… Larry…. Where did he go? Where are my friends?"

"Sam and Fiona took him up top," Billy answered, his hand back on his patient's shoulder. The ex-Army medic had become wise to the ways of the uncooperative man in his care. Regardless of what the man's friends thought, he needed to know the truth about what kind of fire he was playing with.

"Hey, I didn't say we were finished yet. There _is_ more."

Once he was sure Michael wasn't going to continue in his effort to leave the bed, the medic stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and brought out a plastic pill bottle, holding it out for the other man to see. "Pilar, the lady doc who came out to examine you, she thinks you need an EEG, and possibly a MRI of your brain. She is worried that everything you went through, all the drugs and other crap that was pumped into you might have caused some serious damage. You've had at least six seizures that we know about, some of them were pretty bad."

The thought of facing more medical tests caused Michael's head to spin. Swaying, he flopped back, supporting himself on his elbows.

"Trouble is," Mr. Clemens continued to explain. "You freaked out during the ultra sound she ran on you. So there was no way for her to do any more tests without knocking you out cold and she doesn't want to do that cuz right now, even if we could get you to her clinic, you're too weak to cope with the anaesthesia. So, maybe…er, when you're stronger, if things…uh, don't improve you, er...You okay, Mike? You want me to stop? You look kinda pale."

"Just spit it out, Billy," he gritted out through clenched teeth, desperately trying to keep control.

"Look, I'm sorry to be hitting you with all at once, but I'm being honest here. It's dead obvious, man, you've got other issues besides needing a few extra meals and if you're gonna keep blowing off my advice, you need to know what you're risking by pushing yourself too hard." He took another break, knowing that he was in danger of sending the younger man over the edge into another panic attack.

Michael could feel the tremors starting up in his hands at the doctor's words and his heart was thumping in his chest, but he nodded grimly. "I'm fine. Just get it over with."

"Okay, then, I'm pretty sure you're suffering from a bad dose of acute stress disorder and if you don't get some treatment soon, it's gonna turn into a full blown case of PTSD... You've been through a lot, dude, that much is real obvious." He paused again and then opened the pill bottle and shook out two small tablets into his palm. "A healthy diet and some physical therapy will repair your body, but you're not going to get completely healed without a little bit of help."

Michael looked at the pills and shuddered. He had never liked taking medication. It hinted at weakness and the whole point of anti-anxiety meds was to take the edge off, dull the senses.

Mr. Clemens read the hesitation on his patient's face. "What's worse, taking some pills for a few weeks or living how you are now _permanently_? These will curb the anxiety, reduce the flashbacks and all the nightmares and give you time to get some real sleep while you get stronger."

"What about when I want to stop?" he whispered, giving voice to his greatest fear regarding the drugs which could potentially help him. "I – I can't go through withdrawal again."

"You won't be on them for that long, maybe two or three months, just while you stabilize." Billy shrugged and tried to downplay Michael's anxieties. "Then you just cut down the dose little by little over another month. Look, I know you hate the idea of getting hooked again, but do you like things the way they are now? Wouldn't it be better if you could think clearly?" the medic continued to cajole his patient.

Hesitantly, Michael reached out but then snatched his hand back, shaking his head. "I can't."

Growing up he'd had to watch as his mother knocked back larger and larger doses of a variety of tranquillizers, mood stabilizers, anti-depressants or whatever she had managed to convince the family doctor to write a prescription for as a way of numbing the pain of living with a vicious drunken bully. When even as a child, it hadn't taken him long to work that the cure to her problems was to leave the sonuvabitch she'd married, but somehow his mother never managed to work that out. Michael had always wondered how much the narcotics had played into her decisions to stay.

With a sigh, Billy squatted down so he was at eye level with his patient. "I get it. I know it's hard to admit you need help. But trust me, this isn't something you can do on your own and you're not gonna get better by trying to gut it out and just hope all these feelings will go away." Gently he took hold of the younger man's wrist and turned his hand over, placing the anti-anxiety pills in his palm. "Give 'em a try, man," he urged. "If they make you feel worse, then stop taking them."

Slowly getting to his feet, Mr. Clemens went over to a nearby table to pick up a bottle of water. Behind him, Michael stared at his open palm. Of course he wanted to get better; it just came down to how much he trusted the hippy beatnik who was handing out the happy pills.

"_When he arrived he was suffering from paranoid delusions of persecution, which we treated with a mixture of medication and cognitive therapy. He was responding. In fact, there had been short periods of lucidity. Unfortunately, last week he suffered another psychotic break. We realized afterwards he had been hiding his medication."_

That was the voice of Doctor Vincent's, or rather Viktor Markov's associate, a man he only remembered as Doctor Samuels.

_"What is the treatment now, Doctor?"_

He now knew that everything Doctors Vincent and Samuels, along with the caring blonde haired nurse allegedly named Fiona, had told him had been a well-crafted lie, a ruse to convince him it was safe to talk to these people who were only trying to help him.

_"We start again," _his tormentor had sighed._ "This is a difficult case. There is a growing opinion amongst administration that he would be better placed in a unit more suited to containing him, rather than treating him. Before we could sedate him, he nearly killed an orderly who was trying to restrain him."_

He lifted his eyes to study the back of the skinny doctor to South Florida's smuggling community.

Did he trust this guy? Hell no, definitely not. There were only two people in the world he trusted and right now neither of them was in the room with him. The troubled ex-spy bit down on his bottom lip. He was tempted to toss the pills onto the floor. But even as his hand began to tilt, another part of his mind gently reminded him that he trusted Fiona with his life and she had trusted Billy Clemens to watch over him. With a heavy sigh, the weary man popped the pills into his mouth and, as the medic handed him some water, he swallowed them down.

"Good job, you're doing the right thing, Mike." Billy patted his patient on the back. This had gone far easier than he had expected, but he wasn't quite finished yet. This would be the hardest part. "Now we've got that out of the way, there's um…something else I want you to do... I want you to start talking to somebody about what you remember of, er…what happened to you. It can be me if you want or Sam or Fiona. But you have got to talk to somebody or it is gonna eat you up inside."

_"You have to help me, Michael. If you won't tell me what I need to know, I can't help you. You know how bad it can get don't you?" __The disembodied voice of the long dead Viktor Markov, famed FSB interrogator, came out of nowhere, making the hairs on the back of the neck of his final victim stand on end. He shivered as he actually felt the soft breeze of his tormentor's breath next to his ear.__ "And unless you start co-operating you are going to die in agony."_

_"NO!"__ he contradicted the voice inside his head. Closing his eyes, Michael sent the spectre of Dr. Vincent back into the box he kept in the deepest recesses of his brain for all his worst nightmares.__ "You're not real... You died; your own people killed you."_

"Mike, you understand -"

"I get it," Michael snapped, opening his eyes and glaring at the older man."Anything else, Billy?" He was beginning to hate this new decisive version of Dr. Clemens.

"Er, no, not right now..." The much put upon medic sighed heavily. "Look, man, I know you're not happy about any of this. But if you hadda broken leg, you'd take the pain meds and you'd do the P.T. Right? This is no different."

"You're right..." Michael agreed out loud, even though in his head he knew this was nothing like a broken bone. He'd had plenty of those. "I'll _try_ do what you say. But I want something in return if you're gonna insist I take these pills. I want you to swear that there'll be no more sedatives in my future and no more keeping me in the dark. I want to know what is going on and have my say."

"Sure." Billy smiled and relaxed. This had gone far easier than he thought it would, but it was time to see if Michael would cooperate. "Now, I'm gonna make you a coupla sandwiches and a drink."

"How about you fill me in about what's happening first? Like where exactly have Fi and Sam taken Larry?" Michael forced himself to sit up and get his feet to the floor.

"Like I told you before, he's up top with Sam and Fi. They were gonna ask him some questions... Hey…" He held up his hands as Michael narrowed his eyes and glowered at the medic. "That's all I know. I've been down here with you the whole time, dude. They were going to ask him some questions about the guy that hired him, or tried to hire him, I'm not quite sure on the details. But that's all I know, honest. You're just gonna have to wait and ask them when they get here."

Michael frowned and released the older man from his patented death stare to look longingly towards the door which led out into the long dark tunnel and the surface before another emotion took over. Looking at the door was suddenly enough to make the sides of the room close in on him.

"Come over to the table," Billy urged as he sought to distract his patient. "You need to eat."

He didn't feel hungry. All he wanted to do was go back to the surface and find out what was happening. But he couldn't do it. The mere thought of entering the tunnel was filling him with dread. He had never liked enclosed spaces; however, now that dislike had turned into something far worse.

_The sound of his dad coming home, the banging of doors and then the shouting which frequently lead to screams and even more crashes and bangs. As a small child, he had hidden under his bed or in his closet until the noises stopped. But when he was older, but not quite old enough to fight back, his dad had used the same closet as a place of punishment, locking him in the dark for hours at a time until he learned to find a way out by pulling off the vent and escaping through the crawl space. _

He shivered involuntary and then got slowly to his feet. _The last time his dad had tried locking him in that closet was the night he had sneaked out to watch the first Star Wars movie__. He'd been ten_.

"So, how long before I start to feel better?" Michael asked as he slowly shuffled over to the table. _This is ridiculous, he berated himself silently, didn't he spent months in caves in Afghanistan? _Now that the scruffy medic had finally convinced him there was a way forward, the deeply damaged man suddenly couldn't wait to take the necessary steps towards recovery as quickly as possible.

Billy sighed and continued to add a thin slice of cheese to the bread. "It will take a while, but it'll happen faster if you relax and stop fighting us and yourself all the time."

The dark haired ex-spy smiled and ducked his head. "Following orders was never my strong suit, Billy. But I promise I'll try." _Was he actually feeling a little less stressed or was that an illusion?_

"That's all we can ask." The medic placed a cheese sandwich and a cup of yogurt down in front of his patient and sat down facing him, producing a set of domino tiles.

"Okay, eat up and we'll play a few games while you digest your meal. Then I'm gonna give you some exercises to do to start strengthening muscles before you go back to bed." He waited to see if the younger man was going balk at his orders, but was pleased to see Michael nod his agreement.

_He had been patient before in his life…Waiting might seem like a torture, but he now knew there were things far worse than waiting… _The dark haired man shrugged._ Maybe this would work…._

**()()**

The rap of knuckles against her bedroom door caused Fiona to guiltily hide the bottle of scotch she had taken from Jojo's liquor cabinet by hurriedly screwing on the top and dropping it down between her bed and the wall.

"Come in," she called out as she pulled the dressing gown she was wearing tighter around her body.

"Sorry to bother - Jeez, girl you look near on as bad as that fella Sam is trying to put back together." Her host, Jojo Delaney, stood in the doorway, his dark eyes taking in the appearance of the woman propped up on top of the covers of the large king size bed.

Fiona tried to smile, but couldn't quite pull it off. "It's been a long day, Jojo. What do you need?"

"Sam sent me... I've been on the radio checking on Trini and the kids. The crossing was calm and they've already made it to the safe house over on the mainland." He paused as he ran his worried gaze over the woman before him. He'd known Fiona Glenanne for a couple of years now and could see something was troubling her and smell that she'd been self-medicating with some of his decent scotch. "What's up, Fi? That guy with Sam he deserved what you did to him. I've talked to Pilar... He's a monster, that's sure enough."

"I'm not upset about that animal." She tossed her still damp hair back over her shoulder and got to her feet. "I'm just tired."

"Whatever you say, girl…" The gunrunner had first-hand knowledge of his guest's mean streak and had no wish to see her temper directed his way. "I'm only here cuz Sam asked me to get you to watch over Mike. He needs Billy's help with that scumbag you left looking like he's been run over by a truck." Jojo shrugged. "It's no different than what ya did to the sonuvabitch that took JJ."

Fiona thought about the fury that had encompassed her heart and mind when she'd seen the condition of her host's eldest son as she's rescued the boy from one of the man's rivals._ But what she had done to her man's former mentor had been far beyond what Phillipe Gardeno's mercenary had suffered._

"I have no problem looking after Michael." As she spoke, the exhausted Irishwoman turned towards the closet containing her meager supply of clothes. "But I can't see why he wants Billy to patch the bastard up. Not when I'm gonna do much worse to him the first chance I get."

"I think he wants to find out what the guy knows before he bleeds out."

"Huh," The petite red head huffed and pulled out a pair of jeans and a long sleeved top and threw them down on the bed. "Go tell the big baby I'll send the Billy up as soon as I get down there, though I _really_ don't understand why he is bothering to keep him breathing."

"I'll let him know." Jojo began to back out of the room when he saw the slender woman standing with her back to him undo the belt around her dressing gown.

"And Jojo, be a dear and shut the door behind you," she sang out as the tall muscular sea captain fled back down the hall way.

Letting the robe drop to the floor as soon as she heard the door slam shut, she smiled wearily. _Going down to the panic room and spending some alone time with Michael was _just_ what she needed now._

Collecting a bra and panties from the chest of drawers, she hurriedly got dressed before heading to the kitchen and the tunnel that led down to the panic room buried far underground, stopping along the way just long enough to pull a bottle of water out of the fridge.

The last time she had seen Michael had been just after her lover had put a bullet into his former partner and father figure. The sight of him holding a smoking gun in one hand and that weasel Sizemore cowering on the floor with blood leaking out of the hole in his arm had warmed her heart no end. _Of course, Sam had had to ruin it all by disarming Michael_.

She remembered how the love of her life had passed out as soon as the weapon had been torn from his grasp, and how she had asked Billy to keep Michael sedated until _after_ she had made sure Larry Sizemore would never be a threat to anyone again. _She was trying to do the world at large a favor!_

"_You think he'll thank you for that? Treating him like a child."_

Taking a long sip from the bottle of water, Fiona increased her speed. Maybe the blood sucking ghoul had a point this time. She would tell Billy she had changed her mind, that she would stay with Michael and make sure he understood what was going on before she left him again.

The redheaded pixie grinned as she reached the re-enforced steel door. It was probably a good thing Billy was going to be on the surface when Michael came around. She could just imagine what the ex-operative's outburst would be when he realized what had been done to him yet again.

Opening the door, she stepped over the threshold and saw immediately that _something_ certainly had been going on. The lights were dimmed down and as she scanned the room, she noticed several things at once. Domino tiles were spread out on the table top along with two empty glasses, a plate holding a half-eaten sandwich and an empty yogurt cup laying on its side nearby.

"Billy?" she called out softly.

"I'm here, Fi." Mr. Clemens gave a guilty start as he scrambled out from one of the bunk beds which lined one of the walls.

"What happened?" She took a few cautious step towards where Michael lay unmoving on his side… _with his back towards the door?_ "Has something –?"

"Shush…" He put one finger to his lips and then gestured for her to follow him over to the other side of the room, well away from the slumbering ex-spy.

"Billy, what have yar done?" She looked from her lover to the medic and then back again, torn between wanting to check on the apparently more than merely sedated man for herself and finding out exactly had happened from the guilty party standing sheepishly before her.

"He's fine, better than fine. We hadda talk." Billy pulled his hair back from his face and let out a long nervous breath. In some ways, facing down Michael Westen had been a lot less scary than taking on his patient's over protective girlfriend. "Now I know you wanted me to keep him under but I couldn't do it. He needs to be up on his feet and building up his strength, unless you want to add the risk of blood clots to the long list of things we already have to worry about. So I laid it all out to him -"

"Ya did _whot?_" Her Irish accent crept back in as her temper rose up.

"I explained to him that if he didn't start listening to my advice, he was risking killing himself… "Not to mention getting himself killed at the hands of the intimidating gun runner standing in front of the tense medic. "I – er, I convinced him he needed to start taking these." He held out the bottle of pills and watched apprehensively as she snatched them from him to read the label. "Pilar left them the last time she saw him. They'll take the edge of his anxiety and maybe help clear his head."

"And he took them – _willingly_?"

"It took a bit of talking to bring him around to the idea, but yeah, in the end he agreed to give them a try. I told him how it was, without any sugar coating it. He deserved to know the truth." _There, he had said it._ Billy waited for the expected explosion, but instead he got broad smile of approval.

"_Thank you_," she said with utter sincerity.

The medic was taken aback and blinked rapidly several times before continuing, trying to wrap his mind around this bizarre change of circumstances. He had never seen gratitude like that before_._

"Mike was awake for a couple of hours, he ate, he drank and we played a few games of dominoes. But now _ideally_ he needs to be left alone to sleep through the rest of the night, which he should do."

"Good…" Fiona felt the weight of the world lift off her narrow shoulders at this major breakthrough. "I'll stay and watch over with him. Besides, Sam needs you."

"Needs me? For what? Now what's happened?" Mr. Clemens was clearly disturbed to learn that his streak of good fortune was so apparently short lived.

"Nothing else has happened, Billy. You can calm down. Sam just needs to stitch up that – that, _thing…_" She wrinkled her nose in distaste and turned her back on the medic to stop him asking any more questions. "Larry…" She snarled the man's name like a curse over her shoulder.

"Okay, I'll be going then…"

"Donnae waste tae much o' yar time on thot piece o' slime, Billy. Just patch him up enough fer Sam ta get his answers. Then it'll be good riddance ta bad rubbish." The spiteful light in her eyes had Mr. Clemens scurrying to leave the suddenly suffocating space.

"Er, right... Just let me grab a few things and I'm outta here."

Fiona ignored the medic as her attention settled on the dark haired man sleeping on the mattresses in the middle of the room. Slipping off her shoes, she unbuttoned the waist band on her jeans and then pulled back the covers before slipping into the bed behind her lover.

The petite paramilitary was very still, fearful of disturbing him. But Michael's breathing remained steady and slow. It was probably the combination of the heavier food and the medication, she decided. As she lay next to him, she found herself caught in a web of conflicting emotions.

Wrapping her arms around his protruding ribs left her wanting to dig up the body of Victor Markov, buried under the ruins of Sam's ex-girlfriend's beach house, and kill him all over again for what they'd done to _her man_. But his scent, which was somewhat pungent, and his warmth soothed her homicidal rage. The happiness that tugged at her heart over Billy's good news had her peppering kisses over his shoulder and the back of his exposed neck, tasting the saltiness there as she held her lover tighter, so relieved that he himself was _finally_ getting some relief from his demons.

Fiona's mind strayed momentarily to what she had done to Michael's mentor and then thrust it aside. _She would do it again and planned on doing worse as soon as that bleeding heart Sam Axe got done wasting his time and his breath on the undead spy_. Her jaw clenched at the thought of Larry Sizemore being anywhere near the man she held, who she would protect with her dying breath.

Her stiffening finally disturbed him and Fiona felt a wave of guilt for waking him.

"Fi…?" came the groggy voice, almost echoing in the silent cavernous space.

"Aye, Michael, tis me…" The redhead moved around until she was up on one elbow, hovering over him slightly, trying to discern his expression in the low light. She leaned down to press a tender kiss to his temple before he began to slowly shift in her arms, such that he was lying on his back, looking up at her with the oddest expression.

"Fiona," he whispered again. The Irishwoman looked harder and saw something that amazed her. Those weary, bloodshot almost sunken orbs where alight with something she'd not seen in weeks.

_Hope…._

She couldn't help it really. In that moment, Fiona forgot all about all the things that were waiting to try to kill him or pull them apart and focused on the brush of her lips over his as she kissed him.

"Go back ta sleep, Michael. Tis fine….I'll be watchin' over ya," she advised when she drew back.

The ex-operative's eyes slid closed again and his face relaxed. In a matter of moments, he was out, apparently able to rest without the tremors and nightmares that had plagued him previously. Fiona's heart soared and her resolve deepened as she settled down next to _her man_, holding him close.

_They had turned a corner_, she could feel it in her bones, and nothing was going to separate them, not an army of mysterious enemies, not a legion of foreign and domestic intelligence agencies, not psychotic father figures nor foolish friends, not even Michael's own stubbornness…

_Nothing would part them ever again…_


End file.
